


Daisy Chain

by SpicedGold



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: Canon Divergence-ish, Canon compliant couples, F/M, Family Fluff, Figuring out parenting, Flowers, Gen, I have no idea what I'm doing, Inojin's a honey and I want him, Learning Disabilities, Will get happier later I promise, confidence issues, mostly mine, self doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-05 09:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17322797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicedGold/pseuds/SpicedGold
Summary: Ino had always had an ideal image in mind of what her family would be like.She wanted Inojin to have all that she had had, all the love and joy, all the smiles and laughter, all the precious carefree-ness that children only have for a fraction of their lives. She wanted that, she wanted to repeat how she had grown up.But she couldn't deny for much longer that he wasn't what she expected. And while loving him with all her heart was so, so easy, life with him was not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where this idea came from, but here it is, so let's roll with it and see what happens.

_When you were born, the house was filled with daisies. White, and pure, and beautiful. We could watch them grow with you, because you were our flower child. You were the bud we would grow, that would blossom one day into something beautiful._

_You were the light and hope in our lives, and there was so much we wanted you to be._

_But more than that, we wanted you to be happy. A smiling flower, a cheerful face, with a life free of the worries and challenges we grew up with._

_But every life comes with challenges, and, darling, you were no different._

 

 

“Inojin,” she said patiently, her voice soft. “Look at me.”

The boy did not, keeping his attention downwards, at his paper. He couldn’t quite grip his crayons properly, but he made do with a fist and a frown.

“Inojin. Look at me, please.” Ino was trying to stay calm, but it there was a building sense of dread rising in her, because he just wouldn’t look up, and it hadn’t bothered her until Sakura had pointed it out. “Inojin.”

She couldn’t draw his big, beautiful eyes up to hers, no matter how much she tried. She couldn’t get him to look at her, or talk and talk and _talk_ the way the others did. He was mostly silent, seemingly trapped in his own little world, when she longed for him to be in hers.

It wasn’t what she thought it would be.

This silent, withdraw boy who was more interested in his paper and crayons than he was in smiling and laughing. It wasn’t how the future was meant to be.

 

She had always had an ideal image in mind of what her family would be like.

Just as she had been growing up, she imagined Inojin to be bouncing and smiling. Chatting non-stop, out of breath from excitement, laughing all the time. A permanent smile, a head of wavy flaxen hair, all the passion and love in the world. Because that’s what she had been, and that’s what generations of Yamanakas had been, and she never dreamed he would be different.

She wanted his life to be like hers, she wanted Inojin to be her mirror, to reflect her. With Shikadai and Chocho, snarking and playing, forging a powerful bond that would guide them through despair and into adulthood. With Sarada, trading secrets and whispers. Because that’s what she had had.

She wanted Inojin to breeze home to a proud father who delighted in how she grew, and a loving mother who adored him and cherished time spent together, because that’s what she had had.

She wanted him to have all that she had had, all the love and joy, all the smiles and laughter, all the precious carefree-ness that children only have for a fraction of their lives. She wanted that, she wanted to repeat how she had grown up.

Her perfect family image started crumbling around her the day Sakura casually pointed out that she couldn’t remember hearing Inojin laugh in a while. Ino realised she hadn’t, either. (Not in a while. Not in . . . ever . . .?) And then pieces and clues started to fall into place, and Ino couldn’t pretend anymore.

Couldn’t hide behind her perfect fantasy, couldn’t deny that there was a problem with all she had expected.

 

She could remember the sense of dread that formed in her stomach the day she discovered Inojin was not coping the way his peers were. The heavy, visceral knot that twisted deep inside her as she watched him constantly fail to keep up with the others. The sudden vice grip of fear when he pushed everyone away, when he always acted differently, but . . .

He was the youngest, in Ino’s circle of friends, and maybe that was why she had clung so strongly to her denial. Because it was okay that he wasn’t doing what Sarada did, and it was okay that he wasn’t eating as well as Chocho, and it was really okay that he wasn’t a tiny genius like Shikadai.

It was okay. Really, it was. He would catch up.

It started harmlessly enough. Inojin cried a lot, but that was to be expected. He was small, and prone to colic. But he hated being touched, and he screamed when people held him. Even that seemed excusable when he was a baby – he was just a mama’s boy. He liked Ino to hold him.

But by the time he was walking, things were different. He didn’t talk like the others. He didn’t smile like the others. Ino struggled to get him to look at her, he always shifted his gaze away. He shied away from his friends when they were together, avoiding all physical contact, avoiding their eyes.

It seemed fine, he was just shy. He was just taking a while to talk. His hearing was fine, his eyesight was fine, he was just . . . a little different. That was all. Nothing to worry about. (He didn’t always look up when she called his name, and that felt like a warning sign, but she was desperate to ignore it, because he was just perfect the way he was, and she wanted him to be like her . . .)

But Shikadai was spouting entire paragraphs while Ino was struggling to coax more than a few words out of Inojin, and he seemed so subdued all the time. He didn’t smile and laugh and squeal in delight. He hated it when Chocho tried to hug him, and he always shifted away when Sarada tried to engage him in conversation.

It was one morning, as Ino watched Sarada stacking blocks in elaborate towers, that she finally found the courage to voice her fears to Sakura. “Do you think something is wrong with Inojin?”

Sakura took another sip of her tea, but Ino knew that was purely to stall before answering. Hesitantly, she watched the two children. Sarada had been talking to herself the entire time, making up stories and names, and just generally babbling on as she played.

Inojin had not moved once, and hadn’t made a sound. He sat with his back to Sarada, doing nothing more than arranging blocks into groups of the same colour. He didn’t seem to care about trying to use them for anything, just organise them. And when he ran out of colours, he sat and stared at them.

“He’s quiet,” Sakura ventured, speaking slowly. “But so is Sai.”

But Sai would smile at her, and talk to her, and love her, and get excited over things. “That wasn’t really an answer.”

Sakura looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. But . . . Maybe we should look into it.”

 

The doctor had a kind face, and a gentle voice, but not even that could coax Inojin out from where he had stuck his face against Sai’s neck and refused to move.

“He’s just shy,” Ino tried excusing. “He . . . doesn’t really like talking to new people.” Or old people. Or his parents.

Sai sat hesitantly with a two-year-old stuck resolutely to his chest, looking to Ino for guidance, because this was a social situation outside of his repertoire. When Ino took hold of her son’s arm, trying to gently turn him around, he just whimpered against Sai, clinging on even tighter.

Realizing that Inojin was not going to partake in the conversation, the doctor finally took her attention off him, and fired question after question at Ino. Each and every answer made her worry, made her insides twist, made her chest tighten because these were not normal answers.

No, Inojin didn’t like to be held unless it was her or Sai. He hated physical contact with other people.

No, he didn’t really smile at anyone. Or anything. Or laugh. He was just shy.

No, he didn’t like spending time with friends. In fact, he would move away if he was allowed to (And throw a tantrum if he wasn’t).

Yes, he cried a lot. But that was only because he wasn’t talking yet and he didn’t know how else to communicate with them.

Yes, his hearing was fine, but his speech was . . . less fine. Less than ideal. (So he almost never used full sentences. It didn’t matter. He was only two. He would get better.)

But she knew she couldn’t deny this anymore. Inojin was different. There was nothing to do but face that. And the knot in her stomach twisted tighter and tighter, pulling all her hope away. She glanced at her son, and the nauseating nagging in the back of her mind suddenly swept to the forefront of everything. He looked so sweet. So innocent, and beautiful, and she didn’t want to admit that things weren’t quite right.

He sat on Sai’s lap, idly playing with Sai’s hands, while Sai leaned back into the couch and smiled genuinely at the wispy blonde curls at the back of Inojin’s neck. He was worried too; Ino could see it in the set of his shoulders, the little line between his eyes. He was quietly protective of Inojin, wanting to keep him from whatever dark horrors this doctor was going to bring to light.

“I think,” the doctor began, soothing and even, “That we should schedule a brain scan.”

Sai’s head shot up, piercing eyes locking onto the doctor.

Ino stepped in before he could speak. “You don’t think something’s really wrong with him?”

Inojin grew still, startled by Sai’s sudden tension. He let go of Sai’s hands, drawing his arms in close to his body.

“I think it’s a good idea,” the doctor said. “Just to get a clearer idea of what’s going on. It’s pretty standard in a situation like this.”

Ino knew that, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier. For some reason, all her logic and medical training flew out the window when Inojin was involved. She couldn’t rationalize anything, she couldn’t keep a clear head and impartial judgement. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the world was crumbling around her.

She looked at Sai, and he stared back at her, expression completely unreadable. With a nod, she turned back to the doctor. “Let’s do it.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Diagnosis: Complex neurobehavioural disorder, broad spectrum learning disability (Subcategory: Autism)_

Ino held the report in her hands, the paper creasing from the crushing force of her grip, and she felt her world shrink down to nothing, and just fall away from her. She sat down abruptly, head spinning, heart racing, body numb.

Bits and pieces of the report stuck out to her, seared into her brain.

_. . . Lacks ability to articulate emotion . . ._

_. . . Verbally stunted . . ._

_. . . Refuses eye contact . . ._

Knowing it was coming didn’t help. Knowing there was something wrong didn’t help. It didn’t make her feel any better, not even the pages long report on how to help him, not even the concluding remark that he could get better, it was just going to be a long, tedious road to get there, and he might never fully grasp his emotions.

He might always be behind his peers. He might always be unable to look at anyone. He might always stumble and struggle over his words. He might never know what it truly felt like to love someone, and how to say it, how to process it.

She cried onto Sai’s shoulder for hours. Because she was a failure. Because she hadn’t even been able to just make a child; a flawless, beautiful human. It should have been easy, it should have been natural, and she had failed.

She failed to produce a decent heir for her clan.

She failed to produce a boy that smiled and laughed and loved people.

She failed to produce her perfect family. Her dream would never be real.

All the things she wanted, all the thing she had done as a child and had longed to see him do too . . . Now there was a chance none of it would happen. None of it would be the way she imagined, or the way she had hoped. Or the way the world expected.

“It’s not your fault.” Sai had repeated it a thousand times already, and she knew she would never be able to fully believe him. He held her close, lips against her hair, taking the time between her sobs to reassure, “It wasn’t anything you did. Sakura said so.”

But it must be her fault, because she made him. She grew him, she carried him, she was the one responsible for bringing him into the world. There was no one to blame but her.

It was her fault, and the world had changed irreversibly.

Her tears had dried eventually, and the days that followed were hollow and tense. She tried to adapt her family into a new routine. Ino and Sai spent hours sitting and discussing strategies and ideas, going over everything the doctor had written and recommended, trying to figure out new rules and new routines, anything to help Inojin.

They needed to know when to push Inojin out his comfort zone, and when to back off. When to force him to interact and when to leave him alone. There were so many variables, so many new concepts, so many ways things could go wrong.

It would be so easy to ask too much of the boy, and have him shut down and close in on himself. It would be so easy to ask for too little and have him never blossom the way he could.

The daunting future stressed her constantly. She lay awake in the darkness, mentally working through the doctor’s lists and recommendations. The _now_ was worrying, the future even more so.

What about Inojin’s future career? The doctor had been vague when Ino had questioned if he would ever be able to be a shinobi. And that vagueness had sparked terror anew within her, because Inojin was more than just a child.

He was a Yamanaka.

He was heir to a clan of highly regarded shinobi.

And Ino didn’t know what to do with the thought that he might never become one himself. Suddenly, the future that had been so bright and hopeful was intimidating and foreboding.

What would she do if he couldn’t be a ninja? What would the clan think – of her, and of him? What would her father have thought? The thought of the head line of the Yamanaka legacy coming to an abrupt screeching halt mortified her. The end of the Ino-Shika-Cho, the end of the Mind Transfer, the end of so, so much . . .

There was so much Inojin was supposed to live for, so many hopes he had to fulfil. Now they were going up in smoke.

“He’ll be fine,” Sai said drowsily, squeezing her shoulder lightly.

“Sorry I woke you. Was I thinking too loud?” She did that on occasion, absently linking to him telepathically.

“Hm. Just guessed what you were thinking about.”

“You know me so well,” she said, because Sai loved it when she said that, loved how it implied he was excellent at interacting with her and understanding her, and one of them deserved a small comfort right now.

“What’s the matter?”

“The future. I don’t know what we’re going to do . . .” Since the day Inojin had been born, Ino had been waiting for him to catch up to his team mates. Waiting until he was as strong as Chocho and Shikadai, waiting until he could stand by them on the battle field, waiting until he could carry on her legacy. “What if he never gets better?”

“The doctor said it’s perfectly manageable,” Sai said, still sounding half asleep. “Inojin will learn. There’s nothing wrong with his brain.”

“The possibility also exists that he won’t get any better,” Ino pointed out. “That he might be dependant on us for the rest of his life.”

That in itself was also terrifying. Sai was still on active duty in the Anbu. He did high risk, dangerous missions frequently. The mortality rate in Anbu was high, and luck could only serve them well for so long. What would Ino do if she lost him? What would she do raising a child alone who would forever need her at his side?

“We’re going to help him,” Sai declared softly. “He’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” Ino insisted, a little desperate, because Inojin had no idea what to do with feelings, how to express them, how to process them, how to see them and . . . And she thought back to the myriad of times in T and I when it had been a crucial skill. A Yamanaka with no emotional understanding . . . That was something beyond comprehension.

“I’m going to the doctor tomorrow to get some books to read,” Sai added, drawing her close. “We’ll manage.”

_Will we?_ She bit the question back. Sai was trying so hard to make her feel better. She couldn’t throw her own insecurities back at him. She felt him stiffen slightly.

“Was it . . . was it me?” he asked slowly, carefully measuring his tone.

“Was what you?” Ino flicked her eyes upwards at him. It was dark, and she couldn’t see much, but he felt so tense against her.

She felt his heart beat increase a fraction. “Is it my fault Inojin’s not what you wanted?”

“I . . . no . . . what?” Alarmed, Ino sat up. “No, nothing like that, why would you think that?”

“He’s like me,” Sai murmured, avoiding her eyes. “Everyone always said so.” They did. The comparison had been made so many times – _He’s shy like Sai. He doesn’t like talking to people like Sai. That little odd smile he does looks just like his father. He withdraws from people just like Sai used to do . . ._ “So . . . if you weren’t with me, then Inojin wouldn’t be different.”

“Sai, no, it’s not like that at all.” Ino laid a hand on his chest. “It’s nothing you did, it’s not your fault at all. Please don’t blame yourself for anything, it was out of your control. It’s wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do.”

She added softly, “There’s no one to blame. It just . . . happened this way. But it’s not you.”

She couldn’t quite make out his expression in the darkness, but she could catch the spark of his eye. “Then why doesn’t that apply to you as well?”

“What?” she faltered. “I don’t . . . what?”

“There’s no one to blame,” he repeated. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s nothing you did. So why are you still feeling guilty, and why are you still feeling like it’s your fault?”

She stared at him. He wasn’t wrong. That was exactly what she had been doing. His logic stumped any argument she had. “I . . .”

He watched her earnestly. “It upsets me when you’re upset. And you’ve been very upset lately. Because you think you failed Inojin somehow. But your logic says that you didn’t. I hope you can see it now. How you’re not making any sense.”

She lay down with a defeated sigh. “Okay. You’re right. I was blaming myself.”

“Then I should be blaming myself.”

“No. You shouldn’t be.” She knew he was looking at her with a knowing look, and she threw her arms up. “Argh, alright, alright, I get it. You’re right. It’s not my fault. I’ll try to stop thinking that.” She knew it wouldn’t go away soon. It would be at the back of her mind for the rest of her life – that maybe, _maybe_ , if she had done just _one_ thing differently . . .

“Let’s go to sleep,” Sai suggested. “You can’t help anyone if you’re too tired to think.”

Ino nodded her agreement, and allowed Sai to pull her close and cuddle. But it took a long time before her mind settled enough for sleep.

 

Sai came back from the doctor’s with a list of books to read, and threw himself into his research. Ino fell in love with him all over again, watching him read book after book while Inojin slept on his chest. She woke up one morning to an empty bed (He hadn’t been there when she went to sleep either) and found him still in his studio, drawing.

Faces. Dozens and dozens of faces.

“Sai,” she picked one up. It was clearly Inojin, with a bright smile that she had never seen on him before. “What are all these?”

“The books said,” he began, and Ino almost rolled her eyes, “That this could help. Inojin can pick a face that he’s feeling. Then we can tell him what the feeling is, and he can learn what they feel like – so he knows how to identify his emotions. And he can practice the expression so he knows what face goes with what feeling. And he can show us which feeling he has if he can’t say it – he sometimes can’t talk for long, or doesn’t have enough words. And he . . . Beautiful, are you alright?”

Ino was not. She was crying again, overwhelmed with the love and effort Sai had put in.

Concerned, he stood up, coming over to her, wrapping his arms around her. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she murmured, trying to talk around the lump in her throat and the tears running down her cheeks. “No, you did everything right. So, so right.”

She sobbed into his chest, torn between feeling unbelievably lucky to have him, and incredibly cheated to be faced with a son burdened with so many problems. Once she had calmed down, she stared at the faces scattered around, and wished, hoped, that one day she could see as many expressions on Inojin. At least more than he gave now – the same blank, impassive stare every day.

_Can we do this?_ She wondered. _Can we help him, will we be enough?_

Will anything ever be enough?


	3. Chapter 3

Inojin’s task each morning was to check Sai’s board of faces and pick the one he felt matched what he was feeling. He often went for whichever one was closest, not putting much thought into anything, so Sai added a piece of tape to the floor that he had to stand on for a minute, and could only choose a face when the minute was over and he had actually put some thought into it.

It helped immensely, and sometimes Inojin would take even longer, biting his lip and trying to make sense of whatever was happening inside his body.

Ino kept track of what he selected each morning. There wasn’t much variety in his choices, and he usually picked the ‘neutral’ face. But often when he took longer to make his choice, he would stand with the paper in his hands, practicing contorting his face into a matching expression, and that made Ino feel better because she knew he was feeling _something_. He just didn’t know how to express it.

The next challenge was getting Inojin to talk. That was a lot harder than getting him to wrap his head around emotions. (That wasn’t overly surprising. It wasn’t Ino’s first time teaching someone what emotions meant and how to feel and express them. She was pretty good at it by now.)

But Inojin was unwilling to try talking. He had a few select phrases he liked to use, and a limited number of one-word answers that he used even when uncalled for. He had just turned four, and should have been talking a lot more. It felt a bit like hitting a brick wall – all Ino’s progress came to a screeching halt.

She tried to engage him in the mornings, trying to get him to give some sort of input into the day.

“Inojin,” she began patiently, sitting on his bed with his clothes in hand. “What colour is this shirt?”

He was staring out the window, resting his forehead against the glass to block her out.

“Inojin. Come here, please.”

“Bird,” he said, not moving. He kept his eyes on the garden outside.

She bit her lip, trying to stay patient. “Inojin, what colour shirt am I holding?”

“Bird.” He left the window, toddling to his desk to look for paper.

Ino tried a different route. “What kind of bird was it?”

“Bird,” he repeated carelessly, looking for pencils. They had made the switch from crayons to pencils in the hopes that the smaller objects would make him focus more. So far, Inojin enjoyed using them, although he took his time to get a proper grip on them, finding it difficult to get his tiny fingers to cooperate.

“What kind of bird?”

“Bird.” He sounded annoyed, keeping his back to her.

“You need to talk to me,” she tried again.

He threw an irritated look towards the window, before repeating stubbornly, “Bird, bird, bird.”

“That doesn’t count. That’s not talking.” _Just talk to me_ , she pleaded internally _. It’s not hard. You can do it. Just tell me something._ “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

That was important. Inojin needed to be able to recognise feelings. He shrugged one shoulder, though, not even trying to stop and think.

“No,” he said blandly, moving further away from her to press his forehead to the wall and stare blankly at it. It was the clearest signal he had to show that the conversation was over, and he was not intending to engage anymore.

Ino bit her lower lip. There was no point in arguing; Inojin would just shut her out and refuse to interact at all. She sat for a few minutes, just watching him, before saying softly, “Come here. Let’s get dressed.”

To her relief, Inojin obeyed. He wandered over to her, staring at the floor, and peeled off his pyjamas, managing to stay completely silent and not look up at all. Once dressed, he turned away, moving to his desk, where he climbed underneath it to sit with his knees to his chest. It was something he often did when he wasn’t sure how to express what he was feeling, or how to process and deal with it.

Generally, Ino didn’t bother him when he was there, as she wanted him to have one space all to himself that he could go to when he didn’t know what else to do. So, she didn’t pull him out and ask him questions. She rose up, leaving the room. “We can have breakfast when you’re hungry.”

She paused in the doorway, not looking back, but listening.

There was absolute silence inside the room.

“I love you, sunshine,” she said softly. She waited for a moment, as she always did, just in case an answer came. Just in case he said it back.

He never did.

 

She still wasn’t comfortable telling people, even a year later. She feared their judgement and criticism. (Of her. As a mother.)

Of course, Shikamaru and Chouji knew, and by extension Temari and Karui were aware as well. Karui was oddly supportive, keen to learn how to help and what to do when she was around Inojin. Because of Chouji, Inojin and Chocho saw each other frequently, but they had never really hit it off and sought each other out as company.

Now, Ino knew why. She used to think it was just differences in personalities. Chocho was loud and present, and that confidence and exuberance intimidated Inojin. Karui now encouraged Chocho to be calm around him, and to not get frustrated if he didn’t want to speak.

Chocho did not adapt that quickly, and more often than not Inojin would storm away from her to sit in a secluded corner and sulk in peace.

Shikadai had taken the news that Inojin was different with a nod and a yawn, before wandering off to have a nap. At first, Ino stressed over his reaction, terrified that he wouldn’t understand.

It turned out she didn’t need to worry. Shikadai caught on faster than Sai about how to help Inojin. Whenever they were together, Shikadai sat next to Inojin, never in front of him, so he was never forced to avoid eye contact or turn away. And Shikadai had seemingly endless patience waiting for Inojin to tell him what he wanted. Ino once watched Inojin spend an entire afternoon trying to tell Shikadai what birds he had seen in the garden, stumbling over words and struggling to string them together, and getting flustered and frustrated with himself.

But Shikadai never once interrupted, never once looked annoyed. He just sat at Inojin’s side, looking straight ahead, close enough to be comforting but not close enough to be touching, and Ino wondered where this sweet and loving trait had come from. (Both Temari and Shikamaru denied it was from them.)

Shikadai was also a skilled interpreter. For whatever reason, he could understand Inojin’s garbled explanations, and somehow understand him when he used words that didn’t relate at all to what he was saying. It was both sweet and frustrating, because it meant that Inojin used Shikadai as a crutch for communication, leaving it to the young Nara heir to say everything Inojin wanted to say.

It left Ino uncertain, because part of her wanted to encourage that bond as much as possible, and part of her wanted to keep them separate so that Inojin would be forced to talk, and not learn to rely on Shikadai.

“I can tell him to stop,” Shikamaru said one day, when Ino was scowling out the window at Shikadai as he napped on the lawn, and Inojin sat a little away from him touching the petals of a nearby daisy bush.

“I don’t want him to stop, I want Inojin to try more,” Ino bit her lower lip. “I want life to be easier, I want to not worry about the future all the time. I want him to smile at me, and I want to hear him laugh. Everything you have. I want that too.”

Shikamaru stayed silent.

“What was it like the first time Shikadai laughed?” Ino demanded. “How did that make you feel?”

“Ino . . .”

“Don’t ‘Ino’ me, it was amazing, wasn’t it? Made your whole world light up. Made everything better, made everything worth it.” She met his eyes boldly. “Don’t act like it was nothing, because you are a _sap_ , and you probably think about it all the time.”

Shikamaru sighed. “Yeah.”

“My days with him are quiet,” Ino said. “And I love him with all my heart, but he doesn’t give me anything back. It’s not too much to ask that he says ‘I love you’ and he means it.” Her anger, bubbling close to the surface, faded away. She stared at her son, at the delicate way he fixated on certain textures. His little fingers were curling around flowers, just feeling how his touch influenced their shape. “I love him so much, and I’m terrified he’ll never say it back.”

“He will,” Shikamaru said surely.

“How do you know?”

“When have I ever been wrong?” he replied, somewhat smugly.

Ino rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable. How does Temari put up with that ego of yours?”

“Smothers it with her own,” Shikamaru shrugged. “Give it time, Ino. He’ll come around.”

“You said the same about Sai.”

“Yeah,” Shikamaru’s slow smirk was irritating, but familiar. “And I was right.”

 

Some days went by without incident. Some days Inojin was quiet, but cooperative, and life just ticked along. It wasn’t hopeful, but it was familiar. Things got tense, however, when he was upset, because no matter how many ways Ino tried to ask him, he would refuse to tell her what was wrong.

Inojin sought her out one afternoon, whimpering and snivelling.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, hoping for a straightforward answer.

Inojin kept his mouth tightly shut, sniffing loudly and staring at the floor.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

He didn’t move, just blinked rapidly as tears began to fall from his eyes. He shook his head, still staring at the floor.

“Inojin, tell me what’s wrong.” She could never tell with him if it was a big thing that had upset him, or something small and inconsequential. They were largely the same to him, as Inojin found it difficult to regulate what was important and what wasn’t.

“Tell me what happened.” She repeated it as patiently as she could. “Inojin, talk to me.”

He opened his mouth to breathe in sharply, and Ino hoped he was going to try to say something. Instead, he whined softly, and stayed silent, not moving.

“Inojin. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He took a step closer to her, as though seeking comfort, but that was all. It was infuriating.

_Tell me what you want!_ She wanted to scream. _Just say it, I know you can, just tell me what you want!_

But she had to hold that back. She had to keep control. So she swallowed hard, took a moment to breathe, and tried again. “Inojin, what is it?”

He continued to whimper, but make no attempt to speak to her.

_Patience. Breathe. He’s trying._

_He’s not trying. He’s not trying at all._

_He’s just standing there and_ not even trying _._

“Inojin,” she said, gritting her teeth slightly to keep her voice level. “Tell me what’s bothering you. I can’t help if you won’t tell me.”

She just wanted to know what he was thinking. She just wanted to know what was going on inside his mind, because he kept all his thoughts and feelings locked up safely away from the world.

Inojin sucked absently on a few fingers, his breathing hitching every now and again. His big blue eyes were still shining with tears, cheeks still streaked wet, and Ino just wanted him to say something. It wasn’t too much to ask. It shouldn’t be that hard.

Everyone else could tell her what they wanted, so why couldn’t he?

“Did something hurt you?” she tried.

Inojin shook his head.

“Did something scare you?”

He shook his head again.

“Then what was it?” She had to work to keep the annoyance from her tone.

Inojin was distracted by the front door opening, and Sai entering the house. He paused when he noticed them, trying to read the situation.

Inojin removed his fingers from his mouth and ran to his father, the sobs starting anew.

“Hello,” Sai smiled, kneeling down to greet him. “What’s wrong?”

Ino waited to see if Inojin would answer. The boy didn’t, he just shook his head, edging ever closer to Sai.

“Do you want me to pick you up?” Sai asked cheerfully.

Inojin nodded and whined, pressing against Sai’s front.

Ino bit her lip as Sai hoisted the child up. Inojin stuck his face against Sai’s neck, little arms holding on tightly. Her annoyance rose again at Sai’s actions. He was interrupting her when she was trying to pry an explanation out of their son.

She crossed her arms, drumming her fingers impatiently on her arm, as Sai stood still, just smiling at nothing and waiting until Inojin’s whimpering faded away into silence. Finally, Inojin detached one arm from around Sai’s neck to point back towards his room. Sai followed Inojin’s silent directions easily, and Ino followed, standing in the door way of Inojin’s room as the boy separated himself from his father, motioning to go down.

It irritated her that Sai allowed it without a verbal request. They weren’t supposed to indulge him if he wasn’t trying to communicate better. Sai let too many rules slip. It wasn’t helping.

She kept repeating that to herself, but if she really examined the time they spent together, maybe Sai was doing better than her. Because she hadn’t been able to figure out why Inojin was upset, or even get to aim her in the right direction, but Sai was already being tugged by a hand to the bookcase, where Inojin stood on the very tips of his toes and reached up as high as he could.

His fingers came short of the next shelf, and the box of shiny new pencils they had bought for him.

“Is this what you’re after?” Sai asked, lifting the box down and handing it to Inojin.

The boy took it without a word, and toddled off to his desk to climb onto his chair and hunt for a blank sheet of paper.

Ino left the room, feeling despair twist up inside her.

He just wanted pencils. Why couldn’t he just ask her? Why couldn’t he just tell her?

She slumped against the wall, shoulders sagging.

And why couldn’t she reach him the way Sai did? It was effortless, how he handled Inojin. No over-analysing, no thinking too hard, no struggle. She was the one who was meant to be an expert in the mind and emotions, and she couldn’t even understand her own son – her flesh and blood and progeny. She was failing, at _everything_ , and it was something she didn’t want to fail at. Raising her son, that should come easily, that should be something that was second nature, some force drawn out of her by instinct alone, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t what she expected.

It was so, so hard.

She moved away from Inojin’s room, in case her steel hard grip on her emotions failed, and she started crying. She didn’t want him to hear, didn’t want him to know just how much his silences and empty stares upset her.

It didn’t take long for Sai to come looking for her. He found her in the kitchen, trying to distract her thoughts by planning dinner. She wasn’t doing anything, though, just standing and glaring at the fridge with moist eyes and a heavy feeling in her chest.

“Beautiful?” Sai asked, frowning. “Are you alright?”

No. Not at all. She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back tears.

But Sai was approaching her now, looking concerned, and she could feel her strength dissolve. Without warning, the tears came.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she sobbed. “I didn’t ask for this to happen. This wasn’t my choice. But it’s what we have now, and there’s no going back. And I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready. I’m not . . . I can’t do this. I don’t know how. Sai,” she grabbed desperately at him, and he automatically wrapped his arms around her. “We didn’t ask for this. How does everyone think I can manage when I wasn’t ready? I’m a failure, and no one understands what it’s like . . .”

Sai looked at the top of her head, asking solemnly, “What would you like me to do?”

“I don’t know. There isn’t anything. We can’t change this . . .” She sniffed against him, fingers curling in his shirt. “I just . . . I wish I knew what he was thinking. I just want to know that he’s happy under all that . . . I just want to know how he feels. I just want some way for him to tell me he’s happy . . .” _I want him to love me the way he loves you . . . I want things to be different . . . I want things to be the way I always imagined . . ._

Because she had dreamed of a family filled with sunshine, dreamed of a world like the one she grew up in, and she wanted to make that her own, to make it better.

But Inojin was trapped in his own thoughts, and Ino was trapped in a world without the smiles and laughter.

His silence bothered her, especially when he was around his friends. The differences between him and his peers stuck out sharply when they were altogether. Chocho and Sarada were loud and cheerful all the time, and Shikadai could talk (argue) for ages if you got him interested in a topic. But Inojin was silent and withdrawn.

“He’s almost four and a half,” Ino said a few days later. “He should be running around and playing with his friends. When I was his age, I was playing outside every day. Making friends. Not sitting in a corner with a pad of paper and unable to talk to anyone, or feel anything.”

Sai looked at her solemnly. “I was.”

“And no one should have ever gone through what you went through,” Ino said. “Ever. And he isn’t going to have to deal with that, because the world is different now.”

She watched her son, sitting with his back to the wall and fiddling listlessly with his pencils. What went on in his head, when he sat with his thoughts and his silence? She longed to know what was happening in his mind, what exactly went through him. Was he thinking too much, and it was overwhelming, and that’s why he didn’t know how to express it? Or was there nothing in there, just blankness, just silence?

The latter thought was jarring in a way that made her throat constrict. _The doctor said he could get better_ , she reminded herself. _He can be normal. He can manage._

Equally possible was the notion that he wouldn’t manage, wouldn’t get better, wouldn’t ever be more than he was now; a muted ball of sunshine that didn’t shine the way she had hoped.

“Inojin,” she called him gently, hoping he would look up.

He hummed slightly, just a vague noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t look up. What Ino wouldn’t give to be able to stare into his sky coloured eyes.

“What are you drawing, sweetie?”

His pencil hesitated a fraction, then he wordlessly turned the page to show her.

“That’s a pretty bird. What is it?”

Inojin shrugged once, continuing with his drawing.

“Does it have a name?” she persisted, longing for more than she had.

He whined slightly, discomfited by her interrogation. He edged away, trying to put more space between them.

_Talk to me,_ she thought desperately. _Please talk to me. Look at me. Smile at me. Let me hear you laugh._

There was so much she wanted from him, and she didn’t know how to get it. _Just like me_ , she thought. _I want you to be just like me. I want to see myself in the way you smile, and hear your father in the way you laugh._

“S’a bird,” Inojin mumbled eventually.

Her first instinct was to ask another question, to attempt to pry more from him. She bit it down, forcing a smile instead. “I see. He’s lovely. You’re very talented.”

The praise didn’t seem to get a reaction at first, then Inojin flushed slightly, ducking his head down to hide a small smile. He turned away shyly, wedging a shoulder up against the wall, blocking her out of his line of sight while he dealt with the emotion suddenly surging through him.

“He’s trying,” Sai said gently. “Give him time.”

Ino was not patient. “I know. I’m trying, too. But . . . I want more. I want more from him.” Every time he turned away, every time he didn’t answer, every time he kept his eyes away from hers, it felt like failure. Like she couldn’t raise her child properly, like she was the one falling behind.

“It’s hard,” Sai said, pulling her against him with a strong arm around her shoulders. “For him as well. I know how he feels. I know what it’s like to be feeling something and not know how to deal with it. Sometimes he needs the quiet, because his mind is screaming.”

“I know.” She tried not to sound short, and may have failed. She knew this. She knew all of this; they had talked it to death. Talking didn’t make it easier. Having her son refuse to look at her didn’t make it easier. Nothing made it easier.

The uncertainty of the future was hard to bear, and she didn’t know how long she would be able to handle it for.


	4. Chapter 4

Something had been nagging at her mind for a while, and she finally found the courage to voice it aloud. It was late, and Sai had been asleep at her side, but Ino was still awake and mulling over her thoughts.

“Sai?”

He groaned slightly, before blinking his eyes open. “Yes?”

“I didn’t want to do this because . . . it seemed wrong, but, well . . . Do you think we should use Mind Transfer on Inojin and see what’s going on in his head?”

“What?” Sai propped himself up on one elbow.

Ino fidgeted with the blankets. “I didn’t want to. Because he’s so young and it felt like an invasion of privacy. I shouldn’t get into his mind like that, it’s not fair. But . . . now I feel like it could help him. If I just know, if I just see, maybe we can figure out how to help him better?” The idea felt morally wrong, but by now Ino was willing to try anything – she needed to succeed at something with him. “What do you think?”

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” Sai lay down again. “It won’t hurt him, and you helped me a lot with it.”

Ino was still hesitant. She couldn’t explain it, but it felt wrong thinking of using shinobi techniques on her son. She wasn’t sure why – it wouldn’t be an issue if Sakura had asked her to use it on Sarada, or any of her friends’ children. But Inojin . . . she couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t right. She pushed her insecurities aside. “Do you think it will help?”

“I think it’s worth a try.”

 

Inojin sat quietly on Sai’s lap, looking around the room. He didn’t look at all stressed or concerned.

That boosted Ino’s confidence a bit, because she had been worried he would pick up on her tension. But Inojin was usually happy and relaxed when he was with Sai, and Ino sat in front of them, offering Inojin a smile. “Inojin, we’re going to try something new, okay?”

He just nodded, looking at the window.

“I’m going to use a ninja technique on you, and see what you’re thinking about, okay?”

He made an agreeable humming noise, which Ino took as permission. She sent a quick glance to Sai, and he smiled back encouragingly. She didn’t know why she was nervous; it wasn’t like she didn’t know what she was doing. It wasn’t as though Inojin was going to fight her. Still, there was a lingering unease in her, and she decided to get it over with.

Catching Inojin’s eye took some skill, but he cooperated long enough for her to focus chakra, and within the next moment she felt that familiar rushing sensation of entering another mind.

She had only a few seconds to feel cautiously at Inojin’s mind (It was so bright and colourful) before he let out an ear-piercing shriek. The sound reverberated around her, and she felt herself being violently ejected from his mind. Within an instant she was back in reality, back in her own mind, and Sai was struggling to hold onto Inojin as he kicked and screamed, blue eyes wide and fearful.

He managed to contort himself off Sai’s lap and onto the floor, and immediately scrambled to his feet and fled the room.

“Inojin-“ Ino tried to reach for him, suddenly feeling hideously guilty. She couldn’t have hurt him, so why did he react so violently? “Wait, sweetie, it’s okay-“

He didn’t look back, but she could hear his progress towards his room; with running steps and frantic breaths.

“Does that hurt?” Sai asked, bewildered.

“You know it doesn’t,” Ino replied sharply, getting to her feet. “Inojin!”

Sai followed her to Inojin’s room. The boy had wedged himself under his bed. Ino lay down on the floor to look at him.

“Inojin, honey, it’s okay. Come here.”

“No!” He scrunched his eyes shut, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Ino reached under the bed to try to take hold of his arm, but he just screamed louder and kicked out, limbs flailing in jerky, uncontrolled movements. “Inojin . . .”

“Get it _out_ ,” he shrieked, hands clenched into fists, hitting out vaguely.

“I’m out, love, I promise. I won’t do it again.” She couldn’t have done the technique wrong; she was too familiar with it. Had her presence been that overwhelming?

Inojin was still kicking and screaming, repeating the same single word over and over, “Out!”

She bit her lower lip, trying to stay calm, but she could feel the knot of guilt rising up her chest and into her throat, and her eyes welled with tears at the sight of her child so distraught. And it was all her fault . . .

Sai pushed her very gently to the side, and lay down as well, squeezing his upper body under the bed towards his son. “Inojin. It’s just me.”

Inojin whimpered, but his screams died down. He opened his eyes, fresh tears spilling out, and grabbed for Sai’s hand. Sai wedged himself further under the bed, close enough that Inojin could curl against his shoulder, his face in the crook of Sai’s neck. Sai continued to murmur softly to him, and Ino sat up, turning around to lean her back against the bed.

She put her face into her hands, choking down her own sobs, because she didn’t want Inojin to hear her. She couldn’t stop the tears; those flowed without permission. After what felt like hours, Inojin had fallen silent, and Ino peeked out from behind her hands.

Sai was shuffling out from under the bed, and once he was sitting up on his heels, Inojin was standing in front of him, arms around his neck and face hidden in his chest. Sai held him gently, sending Ino a questioning glance. She gave a defeated sigh, reaching one hand out to stroke Inojin’s hair. Thankfully, he didn’t flinch at the contact – she didn’t know if her heart would have been able to handle it if he had.

Sai lifted Inojin up, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Can you talk to me, Inojin?”

Inojin sat back a fraction, settled on Sai’s lap, and stared at a point over Sai’s shoulder. He shrugged.

“I want to talk about what happened.”

Inojin wiped at his eyes again, but he nodded.

“Did it hurt?” Sai asked.

Inojin shook his head.

“Did it scare you?”

Inojin paused before replying. Hesitantly, he nodded.

“Can you tell me why?”

“Hm,” Inojin’s voice rose in a slight whine. “Don’t know. Can’t say.”

“Just try,” Sai encouraged. “Try to tell me how you felt.”

Inojin whined again, squirming a bit in Sai’s lap, but he didn’t try to get down. He rested his head against Sai’s chest, and tried, haltingly, to explain, “Felt like . . . like looking at someone. But bigger. Like they were looking at me but all at once and everywhere.”

Of course. Ino should have seen that coming. Invading Inojin’s mind would seem like a huge ordeal for him – so confrontational, so present. It hadn’t occurred to her that he would find that terrifying, since Sai liked the all-encompassing presence of her mind so much. She had assumed Inojin would as well.

She felt like the biggest idiot in the world.

She didn’t dare try to look at Inojin, in case she spooked him again. She just sat and listened while Sai murmured things to him, trying to calm him down. It worked, _of course it worked_ , because Sai wasn’t Ino and he was doing just fine with their son, and she was the one failing.

Inojin’s outburst had exhausted him, and it wasn’t long before he fell asleep in Sai’s arms, and it was only then that Ino found the courage to look at him, at his peaceful sleeping face, lips slightly parted, blonde hair mussed.

Sai was watching her, scrutinizing her for any clues as to what she was feeling.

“Well that was a mistake,” she mumbled eventually, getting to her feet and leaving the room.

Sai tucked Inojin carefully into bed before following her. “Ino . . .”

“I messed up. I made a mistake.” _Yet another one_. She finally stopped in their bedroom, standing forlornly in the middle. “I shouldn’t have done that to him. Why did I ever think I could get something right with him?”

“You didn’t know he would react like that,” Sai pointed out, as reasonably as he could. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have known,” she argued. “Because why would he ever accept it? It was too much for him – because he doesn’t want me around.”

“He didn’t say that.” Sai’s voice was tinged with confusion, wondering how Ino had made the connection that Inojin didn’t want her around.

“What did it feel like to you?” Ino challenged. “When I did it to you – it’s been more than once. You know the feeling. Tell me how it feels.”

“Warm,” Sai replied. “You were all I could think about and all I could feel. It was like you were the whole world. I felt safe. And loved. It was comforting to me.”

“Right. To you.” Ino sounded bitter. “But not to him. To Inojin, having me all around him, everywhere, is terrifying. It’s not comforting. He doesn’t like it. He hates it. It’s like torture to him.”

Sai paused to digest that. He recognised that there were a lot of wrong things to say here. The odds of finding the right thing was near impossible. “That . . . doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you . . .”

“He finds me cloying and confrontational, and too much to deal with,” Ino said shortly. “That’s what he feels. And I . . . I don’t know how I’m meant to deal with that . . .” That was her son. Her only child, the person she loved with all her heart and soul. And he was terrified of her being near him.

“Sai,” she whispered, all courage fading abruptly. “I can’t do this. I’m not ready for this. I’m not good enough.” The tears were coming back, burning behind her eyes, and she could feel her lip trembling. No wonder Inojin was afraid of her, she was too emotional, too much to process, just _too much_. He liked Sai better because Sai didn’t over feel things and over think things, didn’t greedily grab for progress, didn’t push for more and more and _more_. “I can’t do this.”

Sai was lost and confused. “I don’t understand . . . Can’t do what?”

What was she supposed to say? Whether she had the strength or not to raise Inojin wasn’t a factor – she _had_ to do it. She didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t back off, she couldn’t escape this. There was nothing to do but face everything head on. She wiped her eyes. “It’s fine, Sai, everything’s fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“It’s fine.” She took a deep breath. “This is life now. So . . . I need to get better at it. This . . . this is what we’re going to live with. Every day. And I’ll manage. I’ll do it.” She squared her shoulders. “Everything will be fine. Inojin will be fine.”

Sai nodded, because he wasn’t sure what else to do but agree. Ino had always been the pillar of strength in their relationship. He was confused and disorientated by how vulnerable she looked now. It wasn’t something he was used to, and he didn’t know what to think.

“Sai,” Ino whispered after a pause.

“Yes, Beautiful?”

“Hold me for a bit?”

“Of course.” Sai sounded lightly puzzled, but he didn’t question why she would feel the need to ask. He would hold her at any opportunity, for as long as she wanted. He buried one hand in her hair, combing his fingers gently through it. “You will tell me if you need anything?”

“Yes,” she mumbled against him.

“Because you know you’re not doing any of this alone? I’m right here.”

“I know.” It wasn’t being alone that worried Ino; it was her own shortcomings as a mother. Her own inability to raise her own child. She wasn’t used to failing, and she wasn’t used to being unable to do something. Everything in her life, she had done well in. She had equalled her peers.

Now she wasn’t.

Now she was the one falling behind. The one making all the mistakes. The one whose future was muddied with doubt and questions. Inojin, and the clan, and tradition, and . . . everything. Everything was unclear.

She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.

And she hated not knowing.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Have you ever used one of your clan techniques on your kid and it backfired so spectacularly you couldn’t believe how dumb you were to even consider it in the first place?” Ino asked gloomily, having finally pinned both Chouji and Shikamaru down together for barbeque.

They used to go once a week, but work – mostly Shikamaru’s – had limited those visits to about once a month.

Chouji paused in his avid barbeque eating. “No . . .”

Shikamaru looked away, “I’m not allowed to say.”

The other two stared at him.

“What did you do?” Ino asked slowly.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Chouji put in.

“It was nothing, can we just focus on the topic at hand?” Shikamaru asked. “We were talking about Inojin. What happened?”

“I freaked him out,” Ino admitted. “Tried to use Mind Transfer to see what he was thinking, and he just lost it. He kicked me out – which is basically impossible to do, but he surprised me.”

“Isn’t that a good sign?” Shikamaru raised an eyebrow.

Ino had never thought of it that way. It hadn’t felt like a good sign that Inojin had been able to eject her from his consciousness. It had felt heart breaking and depressing, but maybe it was a sign he would one day be able to mould his chakra and manage as a shinobi. She would consider it more later. “Maybe?”

“Does it hurt?” Chouji asked. “Maybe that’s why freaked out.”

“No. Sai says it doesn’t. Inojin just . . . couldn’t stand it.” She stared at the table. “I assumed it was me he couldn’t stand.”

“You know that’s not true, right?” Shikamaru asked, in a tone far gentler than his usual.

“Inojin loves you,” Chouji added. “You’re his mother.”

“I know.” She bit her lower lip briefly.

Shikamaru and Chouji traded looks, both looking slightly worried.

“I don’t know what to do with him,” Ino admitted. “Every day he’s . . . I think he’s tired of me hovering, but I can’t help it. I need to think of something, because we’re wearing each other down and I don’t want him to get angry . . . He’s trying to make progress but I think I need to spend more time with him, but also not . . . Get it?”

“No,” Chouji shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Put him into day-care,” Shikamaru said. “It’ll do him some good, and it’ll give you a break.”

Ino bristled slightly, expression shutting into a scowl.

“Geez, woman, calm down,” Shikamaru rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying you can’t manage. But you can’t tell me that you don’t want some time to yourself every now and again.”

Ino considered that. “Maybe you’re right.”

“’Course I’m right,” Shikamaru muttered.

“And he’ll be fine,” Chouji added. “Chocho will keep an eye on him.”

“Shikadai’s there too,” Shikamaru said with a shrug. “Mostly.”

“Can he start just like that?” Ino said doubtfully. “In the middle of the year?”

“It’s day-care, no one cares,” Shikamaru pointed out. “Shikadai only goes because Temari wants time to focus on work. He’s not even there every day. Some days he stays with Boruto. Some days you can’t get him out of bed and he just stays home.”

Ino chewed absently on her lower lip again.

“And it’ll be good for him,” Chouji said gently. “It will give him a chance to talk to kids his own age. He doesn’t get to do that at home. There’s no downside to it.”

“Unless he shuts down completely because he gets overwhelmed,” Ino answered snippily.

“And if he doesn’t,” Shikamaru drawled. “He gets to socialize and learn how to be like the others, and maybe start talking more. Personally, I’d risk the shut down when its weighed against all those benefits. And that’s not counting the fact that it will give you a few hours to destress, because you micromanage.”

“Would it kill you to put things in a nicer way?” Ino grumbled. “You make me sound like I’m on his case all the time.”

“’Course you are; you’re a woman,” Shikamaru shrugged. Oh, Ino wanted to slap him. “Doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong.”

“But you are stressed,” Chouji pointed out. “Sai even says so.”

“When do you talk to Sai?” Ino shot back.

“I don’t, really. But Naruto does, and Sai told him you were stressed. And Sakura agreed.”

“I know you feel like you need to be close to him,” Shikamaru interjected lazily. “But time apart from him is important, too. Give it a chance. If he gets upset, you can always take him out of day-care again. It’s not a prison; he can stop any time.”

Everything sounded sensible when Shikamaru said it. It was infuriating. Ino grumbled under her breath. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to Sai.”

Sai, it turned out, was puzzled by the notion.

“I thought you said you wanted him to stay with you until it was time for him to start school,” he said, squinting quizzically at her when she brought it up after dinner that evening.

Inojin was asleep, after a day long silence.

Ino leant into Sai on the couch. “I know I said that. And it’s true, I love spending time with him and having him around. But I think it will be good for him to socialize more. And you know I’ve been missing working more frequently. It will be good for us all to have some space.”

“And Inojin will be okay with it?” A touch of hesitation crept into Sai’s voice, and Ino loved it. She loved how he always kept Inojin’s comfort at the forefront of his mind.

“I haven’t spoken to him about it yet.” She didn’t hold out much hope for a response, either positive or negative. “But Shikadai started a few months ago, and Inojin likes being with him.”

“And it’s safe . . .?”

“Yes. It’s nothing outrageous, the kids just play together and read stories. It’s not too structured, which I think will be nice for Inojin. He can learn to occupy himself. But there’s supervision, and a routine. He likes consistency.” She snuggled up into Sai’s warmth. “What do you think?”

“If you think it will be good for him, I see no harm in it.” He seemed to mull the idea over for a while. “I suppose we do need to start challenging him more. Yes,” he sounded like he had come to a conclusion within his musings. “I think it’s a good idea. And it will make you less stressed, won’t it?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Hm.” Sai was comfortable, and Ino liked how his chest rumbled when he talked. She had one ear pressed to it, smiling at the sensation. “Then it’s definitely a good idea. I don’t like you being so tense all the time.”

“A back rub would probably help,” Ino said instantly, quick to grab a moment when she saw one. “Maybe something more, we’ll see what develops.” She tipped her head back to grin at him. “Sound like a good idea?”

“Sounds like an even better idea than day-care,” Sai agreed, tracing mindless patterns on her arm. “We should discuss it further.”

“We should,” Ino agreed, linking their hands and rising from the couch, pulling Sai with her. He followed willingly. “In the bedroom.”

 

The first morning Inojin spent at day-care petrified Ino almost to the point of making herself sick. She hovered at the phone all morning, expecting the school to call at any minute, to say they couldn’t cope, to say she had to come and fetch him, to say he had given up trying to communicate and had locked himself into his mind and wouldn’t interact with anyone.

But the hours passed by and nothing happened. No one called. The village wasn’t on fire. The earth didn’t explode.

She waited outside the school for the last half an hour, chewing on her lip and hoping everything was alright. And when she could finally dash inside to confront his teacher, Inojin wasn’t sitting in a huddle bawling his eyes out.

In fact, she couldn’t see him at all and she nearly panicked.

He was outside with Shikadai. Sitting in the older boy’s shadow, watching the other kids playing, while Shikadai lay on his back with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed in a perfect miniature imitation of his father.

Apparently they had been there most of the day.

“Inojin,” she called, walking outside to him.

He didn’t look up at his name, but Shikadai sat up.

“How was your day?” she asked.

Inojin shrugged.

“It was fine,” Shikadai said. “Inojin wanted to stay with me. So we kept away from the other kids.”

Shikadai stood up, and that prompted Inojin to get to his feet as well. He continued to stare at the ground, lagging behind as Ino and Shikadai began the walk home. Ino wondered if someone had upset him; he seemed unusually subdued.

He stayed behind them, and Ino glanced back at him worriedly every few metres.

Shikadai kept pace with her, eyes thoughtful.

“You don’t have to come and fetch him, you know,” Shikadai said blandly, kicking a pebble along as they walked.

“What do you mean?” Ino asked.

“I go almost past your house every day. Inojin can walk with me.”

Ino recognised the need for Inojin to grow more independent. But the thought of backing off, of being less involved, was a difficult one to wrap her head around. “You’ll walk him home?”

“I’ve got to walk home anyway,” Shikadai said with a shrug. “It’s a drag walking alone all the time.”

Ino bit back her snippy retort of _why doesn’t Temari come and fetch you then, since she’s usually at home this time of the day_. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Gives me someone to talk to.”

_Does he talk to you?_ Ino wanted to ask, but she felt like that was something she had to wait to ask. She just nodded instead. “Okay. We can try it for a few days and see how it goes.”

Shikadai looked satisfied. “Cool.”

He paused at the fork in the road. Ino stopped as well, mostly to see if Inojin would say anything. Inojin drifted to a halt next to her, looking at the ground.

“Bye,” Shikadai said brightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good bye,” Ino said. She looked at Inojin. “Love, can you say good bye to Shikadai?”

Inojin turned away from them, staring at nothing with his face set in a frown.

The reaction did not seem to bother Shikadai, who gave Ino a casual wave, and set off alone with his hands behind his head, setting his own leisurely pace. It looked so much like Shikamaru that Ino was struck by a sudden sense of longing. If only Inojin was like a mini her – all bouncing smiles and bright chatter.

They walked the rest of the way home in silence. Once Inojin was inside, he moved to the window, sitting down close to the glass with his knees drawn to his chest. The birds outside fluttered from bush to bush, picking off insects and tapping at the flowers.

Ino came to sit beside him.

“Inojin,” she said gently. “Love, can we talk a bit?”

He sat firmly facing the window, studiously ignoring her.

“Did you like day-care?”

Inojin shook his head instantly.

“Can you tell me why?”

His expression shut down into a frown, and he whined low in his throat.

“Please try. I need to know what’s upsetting you.”

There was a long silence. Ino had almost given up hope of getting an answer, when Inojin looked at his toes and murmured. “Too many people. Too loud.”

“They want to be your friends. They’re loud because they’re having fun. Don’t you want to join them?”

“Shikadai,” he said purposefully, as though that held all the answers.

“I know you like spending time with Shikadai, but it’s important that you make other friends.”

“Shikadai,” he repeated insistently.

Ino bit her lip, wondering if pushing him for more would do more harm than good. She decided to back off – Inojin had had a long, tiring day. “Okay. Remember to get a face from your mood board before Daddy comes home. He’ll want to hear how your day went.”

“You tell him,” Inojin said sullenly, chin on his knees. He pouted, scowling and obviously annoyed.

Ino left him to figure it out, knowing he would come to her if he wanted the company. Sure enough, once he had spent some time sitting and thinking, he found her in her study seeing to some paperwork, and climbed onto her lap, hiding his face in her neck and holding onto her with tense arms.

She didn’t try to talk to him, and he didn’t volunteer any words. She swallowed down her doubts that she had made a mistake. She had to give it a chance. Inojin was going to take a while to adjust to the new routine. She mustn’t take today as the norm and assume it would never get better.

_Patience_ , she reminded herself. _It’s all new to him, too. He needs time._

All changes unsettled him, and this would be no exception. She hoped the transition would go smoothly.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may not be as well edited as the others because I got excited writing it and wanted to finish it before leaving for work. Apologies for any mistakes. (Inojin's just a cutie.)

Inojin stayed quiet for the next week or so, coming home with his face drawn into a frown. All the ‘benefits’ Shikamaru had mentioned didn’t seem to be showing. Her patience was wearing thin.

Shikadai walked Inojin home each day, and Ino started to watch from inside the house, waiting for the two boys to appear on the path. Inojin never seemed to engage with Shikadai, even though Ino could see the older boy talking as they walked.

It was a bit distressing at times, wondering if Inojin ever said a word to Shikadai, or if Shikadai just accepted the silence and nattered on regardless. Ino waited in the hall for him, intending to get some sort of information from him.

Inojin took his shoes off quietly, not sparing a glance at her, although she knew he had noticed her.

She knelt down in front of him, hoping to draw some sort of response from him. He stood with his feet apart, lower lip pouting out, eyes on the floor.

“Inojin,” she said softly. “Look at me.”

He raised his head, meeting her eyes for a moment. His gaze wavered quickly, and he looked away again.

“Who did you play with today?”

“Shikadai,” Inojin muttered, twisting his hands together. He fidgeted, shifting around.

“Did you talk to anyone else?”

Inojin shook his head. It wasn’t the verbal response Ino was hoping for, but at least he hadn’t turned away from her.

“Why didn’t you talk to anyone else?”

He shrugged.

“Look at me, Inojin.” She kept her voice as patient as she could, but it was hard. Day after day of the same thing, of Inojin not trying hard enough. She waited until he looked at her before repeating, “Why didn’t you talk to anyone else?”

He kept his eyes on hers for a few more seconds, before blinking rapidly and half turning away from her. He angled his body as though to leave, but didn’t take a step. Ino waited for him to organize his feelings. He murmured softly, “No one likes me.”

At least it was an answer. “Look at me.”

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed. “I don’t want to. It’s too hard.”

Ino sighed. “Okay. Can you at least tell me three things you did at school?”

“Talked to Shikadai. Played with Shikadai,” Inojin scuffed a foot back and forth. “Sat with Shikadai.”

She so desperately wanted more from him. But she knew she had to reward this try, this attempt at communication. So she swallowed down her frustration, “Well done. Do you want a hug, and then you can go play?”

He lit up then, blue eyes sparking, and practically jumped into her arms. He loved hugs from her and Sai – still no one else. Ino was concerned over that, because by now he should be accepting hugs from friends, but as far as she knew he still shied away from contact with others.

A thought occurred to her. “Did you hug Shikadai good bye?”

Inojin shook his head, still buried firmly in her chest.

“I think he’d like it, if you did. Can you try that tomorrow?”

Inojin made a quiet noise against her, but she had no idea if it was a negative or positive one. Inojin pulled back a bit, not quite breaking out of her hold, but definitely stopping the hug. She stayed still, waiting to see what he would do next. Inojin shrugged, saying softly, “I’ll try.”

Her heart thrilled at that, and she kissed the top of his head. “Okay.”

He wandered off to his room, and Ino stayed where she was for a moment, feeling relieved at how receptive he was to the idea of hugging Shikadai. If he would do it or not was another thing entirely.

When she went to call him for dinner, he was sitting on the floor drawing.

“Inojin. What are you drawing?”

He didn’t look up at her, but she saw him smile slightly. “Friends.”

Sure enough, there were several drawings of children around him. All carefully at a distance, and none of them overlapping the page where stick-like renditions of Inojin and Shikadai stood side by side.

Ino sat down next to him.

“Do you want to make friends with the other kids?” Ino asked softly.

Inojin nodded shyly, looking down to hide a smile.

“Does it upset you when they don’t want to talk to you?”

“Sometimes.” He fidgeted uncomfortably.

“What would you do if they come and talk to you?” Ino asked curiously, because Inojin hadn’t shown an interest in being included before. This was progress.

“Maybe . . .” He frowned, thinking hard. “Maybe talk to them . . .?”

Ino smiled. “That would be nice.” Her hearth thrilled – he _wants_ friends, he _wants_ to be included, he _wants_ to fit in with them – it was so exciting to know, because a few years ago Inojin had shunned all forms of friendship from everyone. He had been content alone with his thoughts, but now the more gregarious side of him was slowly emerging.

Day-care had been an excellent idea after all. (Not that Ino would ever tell Shikamaru that; he was right about enough things, she didn’t want to add to his list.) But it was helping. He was trying a little harder. He wanted to fit in with them. A fraction of the weight on her shoulders lifted, and she let out a deep sigh of relief. The future didn’t seem as daunting anymore.

“When Dad comes home,” Inojin said, eyes down but words flowing without strain. “Can we draw together?”

“I’m sure he’d love that,” Ino’s smile broadened. “Your dad always likes drawing with you.”

She kept silent after that, hoping Inojin would fill the void. He didn’t, but the little smile remained on his face, and that was enough. The minutes ticked by, with Inojin drawing and Ino watching, and even though he wasn’t speaking, she felt a bit more in tune with him.

It felt like a brighter day.

 

Sakura brought Sarada over a few days later, tired of keeping up with raising a toddler and working, with no one else to pick up the slack. She brought an offering of cupcakes.

Shikadai had followed Inojin home that day, and had adopted the floor in front of the TV as his personal space.

Sarada kept herself occupied with her books, ignoring the two boys.

Shikadai slouched on the floor in front of the TV, studying the remote and occasionally changing channels. Inojin sat close to him, far closer than he usually sat to people. It was a small victory, but Ino was afraid of drawing attention to it, in case Inojin shifted away once he realised that, distracted by his pencils, he was almost sitting on top of Shikadai.

Sakura was watching them too. “Does he let Shikadai touch him?”

“I’m not sure.” Ino had never asked. “I know he likes him. And they like being together.”

“He’s sitting very close,” Sakura observed. “Do you think he likes being with Shikadai because Shikadai never tries to be in front of him? I’ve noticed when they’re together they’re always next to each other.”

Ino had noticed that too. Shikadai had been doing that from the very start, ever since his parents explained that Inojin didn’t like facing people. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “I think he likes how Shikadai understands him.”

No matter how vague Inojin was, or if he used single words, or words that made no sense, Shikadai always seemed to understand what he wanted. They communicated seamlessly, and it was something that sparked hope in her chest, because they were a team, just as they were supposed to be.

It gave her something to cling to, the notion that maybe Inojin would be able to manage as a shinobi, if he only had Shikadai with him. And he would have Shikadai there, that was something Ino could guarantee.

She glanced at them again.

Inojin was drawing his hand, placing it flat on the paper and drawing around it. He did it several times, each time in a different colour, turning the paper a few times so they overlapped and covered the entire surface. He tried to switch hands, but the lines with his non-dominant hand were shaky and didn’t go quite where he wanted.

Ino kept an eye on him as he sat back and frowned, thinking his problem through. He studied his hands, then glanced sideways at Shikadai, who was leaning back into the foot of the couch, eyes hooded as he stared at the TV. Inojin hesitated a moment, before shifting on his knees to get closer, reaching a tentative hand out.

Ino stayed still, not wanting to do anything to draw attention to her child. Inojin reached over Shikadai, grabbing his arm and pulling it towards his paper. Shikadai allowed himself to be manipulated without question, never once taking his eyes off the screen. Ino bit back a small squeak of excitement as Inojin guided Shikadai’s hand where he wanted it to be, and, satisfied, drew carefully around it.

Sakura grinned at her. “See? He’ll be fine.”

“It’s a start,” Ino returned her grin, ecstatic that Inojin had initiated contact on his own.

“Has he mentioned anything about wanting to start training?” Sakura asked.

Sarada had already started practicing with shuriken and kunai, and Ino knew Shikadai could already use his father’s Shadow Bind technique. His grip wasn’t very strong, but he knew how to manipulate his chakra. Chocho had proven to be more reluctant to learn, so Ino wasn’t too worried about the fact that Inojin never mentioned anything about ninjutsu. “He hasn’t asked about that yet.”

She worried about him falling behind, but at the same time, she wondered if he was truly ‘behind’ since she didn’t know if he would ever be able to even use chakra correctly. He couldn’t be behind if he was never going to be like his friends. His capabilities were still unknown.

“Are you going to start training with him?”

“I’m not sure. Last time we used chakra near him, he freaked out. Learning to use his properly is going to feel strange, and I’m worried about how he’s going to react.” She sipped her tea. “He might find it overwhelming. Right now, he’s hyper focused on his art, and that’s enough. He might learn to use it later. If he doesn’t, well, at least we’ve found something he enjoys.”

Sarada edged closer to Inojin, peering at his drawing. He eyed her suspiciously, shuffling away from her and almost into Shikadai. Shikadai moved over a bit to accommodate his closeness, but didn’t look away from the TV and didn’t do anything else. Sarada seemed to get the hint, and didn’t move closer, but Inojin stayed pressed into Shikadai’s side, nonetheless.

Ino looked away from them, trying not to stare, in case Shikadai noticed. The young genius was irritatingly perceptive at times, and anything different made him suspicious. If he thought Ino saw some sort of significance in what was happening, he would baulk away.

“He draws a lot?” Sakura asked, also keeping her attention away from the children.

“He enjoys it. It calms him down.”

“What do you do these days to calm down?” Sakura asked.

The question startled Ino. “Wh-what?”

“You. Relaxing. When do you do that?”

When Ino just blinked at her, Sakura rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that look. You stress over him a lot. When do you get time to unwind and reset your batteries?”

“I go out with Shikamaru and Chouji when I can,” Ino considered. “You and I have tea a lot.”

“And we always talk about Inojin,” Sakura pointed out. “When do you get time to clear your head? You, of all people, know how important it is to have your thoughts under control.”

“And I do,” Ino assured her. “Maybe things have been tense, but it’s getting better lately. Look,” she indicated to Inojin and Shikadai. “He’s trying. He’s doing better. That’s enough for me.”

Sakura scrutinized her carefully. “Okay. But make sure you let me know if you need anything.”

“I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to bother you,” Ino pointed out with a grin.

“I should hope not,” Sakura chuckled.

They chatted idly for a while longer, and Ino felt so at peace with everything. Inojin spent the rest of his time pressed up against Shikadai’s side, and it buoyed Ino’s spirits immensely.

By the time evening rolled by, she was still elated.

Ino had just put Inojin to bed when Sai came through the door. Without explanation, Ino skipped up to her husband, grabbing his shoulders and leaning up to kiss him firmly.

Sai blinked, a slow smile curling his face. “I like this new greeting.”

“We had a good day,” Ino whispered, kissing him again. “He held Shikadai’s hand,” Ino said quietly, voice still laced with excitement. “All by himself.”

Sai tilted his head slightly.

“And they cuddled,” Ino whispered. “Snuggled up close together. It was so cute.” She took a step back. “You would have been proud of him.”

“I am,” Sai answered instantly. “All the time.”

The glow in her chest burned a bit brighter at Sai’s words. She let her head fall forward, thumping softly onto his chest as she smiled giddily into his shirt. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Sai responded instantly. “And Inojin does too.” He kissed her hair. “One day, he’ll tell you that. All by himself.”

 

“So,” Sakura sipped her tea several weeks later. “How is day-care going?”

Ino let out a loud breath. “Okay, actually. I don’t think his teacher knows what his voice sounds like yet, but Chocho and Shikadai spend a lot of time with him. Well, Chocho bullies him into eating and protects him from anyone who wants to talk to him.”

Sakura smiled. “Sarada mentioned that. She says Chocho looks after him because he’s special.”

“But,” Ino pointed out, “the whole reason for putting him into day-care was so he could learn to talk to other children. That’s not going to happen if Chocho vetoes everyone from speaking to him. He’s never going to make friends like that.” She sighed. “Not that anyone approaches him anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“The other kids stay away from him. They don’t invite him to play or anything. I’ve told him to smile, and maybe someone would talk to him.”

“Who told you they won’t talk to him?”

“Shikadai,” Ino admitted. “He may only spend his morning napping and complaining, but he’s quick to notice things, and he’s smart. Honestly, he probably knows more about Inojin than I do at this point.” Ino smiled. “He walks Inojin home every day. Says he likes the company.”

Sakura returned the smile. “Even if Inojin never makes another friend, you know Shikadai is going to be there for him forever. Chocho, too.”

 _If he ever becomes a shinobi_ , Ino thought grimly. The thought that he might not still haunted her at odd times of the day. It felt like a looming cloud that couldn’t be chased away – because she couldn’t see the future and she would never know until it happened. “Yeah, I guess.”

Sakura looked thoughtful. “Does Inojin want to talk to the other kids?”

“Sometimes he says he does. Sometimes he says he’s happy with just Shikadai. I think he wants to try to talk to other people, he’s just not sure how to start.”

“Think he’ll talk back if they approach him first?”

“I’m hoping so. But we won’t know until it happens,” Ino shrugged.

Sakura leaned back in her seat. “Otherwise, how is he doing?”

“Talking a bit more,” Ino was relieved. “He’ll start conversations on his own now. He looks at me and Sai a bit more. He’s eating better – not as fussy as he used to be.”

“So, things are looking up,” Sakura added.

“Yes,” Ino’s smile was soft. “Things are looking up.”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but happy

Most days Inojin came home from day-care silently. Sometimes he would come to her, sometimes he would go straight to his room for some peace and quiet. Rare were the days he came home looking so carefree.

Ino came into the hallway, summoned by the sound of the front door, to gauge his mood.

Inojin sat down to take his shoes off. He was humming under his breath, and Ino waited to see if he would say anything. He looked unusually chipper. Often, he came home with a frown and a grumble, feeling ostracised and vulnerable.

Today was an improvement.

“Hi, sweetie,” Ino said, and Inojin, while he didn’t look at her, grinned at his toes.

“Hi,” he said clearly, getting up again and wandering past her to his mood board. He plucked the smiling face from the board, and came to hand it to her.

She waited to see if he would volunteer any information. When he didn’t add anything, just skipped past her to his room, she moved to follow him, holding the smiling face in her hands. “Inojin, how was your day?”

“Good.” He flopped belly first onto his bed, hiding his face in his pillow.

Ino sat down on the bed, laying a hand on his back. “Can you tell me more?”

He shook his head, still pressed firmly into the pillow.

“Try anyway. Are you happy because you and Shikadai had fun?”

He shook his head again.

“Are you happy because Chocho shared her food with you?”

He turned his head slightly to the side, just enough to whisper, “Sarada.”

“Sarada talked to you?”

He coloured pink under her gaze and hid in his pillow again with a small squeak and a nod.

Ino felt an immense rush of affection for Sakura, who she had no doubt had prompted Sarada into the interaction. She owed her tea and cake. “What did she say?”

Inojin shook his head again, and Ino tried not to get annoyed. Gathering her patience, she put the smiling face down on the bed, and gently pulled Inojin up by his shoulders. He wriggled around, climbing onto her lap – and that was also a good sign, he was pushing into physical contact.

“Sweetheart,” Ino said patiently, resting her chin on his head so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “Tell me what Sarada said. It’s okay if it takes you a while.”

Inojin shrugged. “She said ‘hi’.”

Ino waited to see if he would add anything. Finally, without encouragement, he muttered, “She said she liked my drawing.”

Oh, that was what had excited him so much. “All that practice with Daddy helped, huh?”

He nodded, looking at his hands. Suddenly he squirmed on her lap, looking uncomfortable. He often did that when he wasn’t sure what he was feeling, and he didn’t like the unfamiliarity that thrummed through his body.

“What are you feeling?”

He whined, trying to push away from Ino.

She kept hold of him. “Tell me what you’re feeling, Inojin.”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are you feeling it?”

“Tummy,” he replied shortly, still trying to fight out of her grasp.

“Does it feel good or bad?”

“Good, but too much.”

Happiness? Ino let him go, and Inojin dropped onto the floor, going to his desk to sit underneath it with his knees up against his chest. She didn’t call him back, figuring he had tried hard enough, and given her enough for now. She stood up, putting the smiling face down next to him so he could practice it if he chose to, then left his room.

She was deep in thought when Sai came home, working mechanically in the kitchen.

“That doesn’t look like dinner,” he ventured.

“Hm? Oh, it’s not. I’m making a cake.” Ino forced a smile, but interacting with Inojin was draining and slow progress, and she was finding it so hard to be patient and keep at it. It was wearing her down slowly. “I owe Sakura.”

“For what?” Sai leant against the counter next to her, watching her work with his carefully blank expression.

“Sarada spoke to Inojin today.”

“Did he talk back?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get that far. Maybe he’ll tell you.” Ino sighed. “Are we really helping him? Are things getting any better?”

Sai paused, taking his time to think, because he wanted to give an honest answer. “Inojin doesn’t cry as much. He sleeps better. He enjoys time with Shikadai.”

“Those are all facts, but are we really helping?” Ino stopped her cake preparations, staring blankly at the wall. “Sai, it’s so hard to teach him. It’s so hard, and all I can think about is the future. Will he ever be okay? Will he ever manage normally?”

 _He’s meant to be a shinobi_ , she thought grimly. _He’s meant to be amazing and talented._

Would they ever get close to that?

“I’ll go talk to him,” Sai stated, pushing away from the counter.

“Good luck with that.” She knew she sounded snappish, and it wasn’t fair to take it out on Sai. But Inojin felt like a dead-end, and there was only so much she could take.

Sai found Inojin exactly where Ino had left him; sitting under his desk. “Hello. Did you have a good day?”

Inojin’s eyes flicked to his toes. He nodded.

“Did you talk to Sarada?” Sai always went the direct route, despite Ino telling him, repeatedly, that yes/no questions weren’t helping because Inojin didn’t have to give a verbal response.

But Inojin shrugged, and mumbled, “A bit.”

“What did you talk about?”

Inojin answered with an exasperated sigh, getting out from under his desk and marching right past Sai into the hall to his school bag. He rummaged inside, pulling out a folded paper, and finally walking back to his room to wordlessly hand it to his father.

Sai unfolded it. “You drew this?”

Inojin nodded, moving back under the desk. He huddled up again, knees to his chest, arms clasped around them.

Sai studied the drawing in his hands. It was the three of them, riding on an ink bird. The whole family together, with Inojin sitting in the front. Happy and confident and smiling.

Sai withdrew from the room, taking the drawing with him.

Ino was still fretting in the kitchen. “Did he talk?”

“Yes.” Sai turned the drawing around. “Look.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Ino beamed. “But what did he say? Did he tell you anything? Did you ask him proper questions?”

“Ino,” Sai said gently. “It doesn’t matter. Look what he drew.”

“Yes, I know, it’s us, but-“

“He drew this. This is what he wants. This is the future he’s going to have.”

Ino paused, wondering why this seemed so profound. “And?”

“It’s my technique. He’s going to learn it. He’s going to be a shinobi.”

“Well, maybe, we don’t know if he’ll cope . . .” Ino chewed her lower lip, still worried.

“Ino,” Sai said encouragingly. “He’s going to be fine.”

“We don’t know that –“

“I do,” Sai interrupted with conviction. “Look at this. Look what he drew. If he can draw like this,” Sai smiled fondly, “He’s going to be fine.”

 

Inojin came home the next day looking pleased with himself, and spent ages standing in front of his mood board trying to make a decision. Eventually, he called out, “Mom?”

“Yes, love?” Ino looked up from where she had been sitting on the couch, checking over a few mission reports.

“What if . . .” Inojin frowned. “What if I have more than one feeling?”

“What are you feeling?” Ino asked, curious. She didn’t get up to go towards him, in case that caused him to shut down. She kept her distance.

Inojin plucked the smiling face from the board. “Happy. But also . . .” He reached for another face. “Excited? Can you have two feelings at once?”

“Yes, you can.” Ino watched him. “What made you happy?”

“Sarada. Again.” Inojin studied the pictures he was holding. “Spoke more.”

“That’s great. And why are you excited?”

Inojin’s frown deepened. “Said tomorrow draw more.”

Ino tried to sort that sentence out in her head. “Can you be a bit more clear with your words?”

Inojin came up to her, still looking at the pictures. He stopped in front of her. “Sarada,” he started. “Said tomorrow we can . . . draw together some more . . .”

Ah, that made more sense. Ino wanted to pull him into a hug. “So you’re excited and happy. Do you like feeling that way?”

“It’s . . . a lot,” Inojin considered. He placed the pictures down over Ino’s work. “But not too bad.”

Was it too much to ask him to look at her? Was she being greedy in wanting more? She was desperate for it, though, for Inojin’s happiness to last, desperate for this progress to continue. Just a tiny step in the right direction, just a tiny sign that things will get better . . . That’s all she wanted. When should she push, and when should she back off? She swallowed hard. “What did you draw today?”

“Birds,” he answered, climbing onto her lap, arms around her neck and looking over her shoulder. She felt him smile when she embraced him, and it sparked a warm bloom of happiness in her chest.

“Does Sarada have a favourite bird?”

“Didn’t ask.” Inojin pressed his face into her neck. She could feel him still smiling. He probably didn’t know what to do with all the emotion, and was trying to hide it away.

“You should ask her. If you know what her favourite bird is, you can draw it for her.” Oh, that was a risk. Would he shut down, thinking she was asking too much of him? She didn’t dare try to pull him away to look at him.

Inojin’s grip around her tightened a fraction, then relaxed as he accepted whatever feeling had coursed through his system. He made a thoughtful noise, and, to Ino’s delight, spoke again. “Okay. I’ll try that.”

 _Yes, yes, yes!_ She couldn’t help but grin. “I love you, sunshine.”

“Hm,” he buried his face in her neck, and squeaked softly.

She patted his back gently. “What do you want for dinner?”

He answered quickly, “Pizza.”

“Okay. Good idea.” She hugged him tight, feeling him smile against her. It was going to be a good week.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Ino was in the kitchen when the front door slammed the next day. She looked up in alarm, wondering what had incited Inojin’s rare rage.

“Love, what’s the matter?” Ino called. She hadn’t expected a response, but she didn’t think he would throw his shoes against the wall either. “Inojin?”

He made a frustrated noise, hands clutching at his hair. Ino was immediately concerned. She came into the hall to meet him.

“Are you okay?”

He shook his head, trying to step around her.

Ino took in his posture, hunched and tense, mouth pulled into a thin line. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

He repeated his frustrated noise, but didn’t speak. When he couldn’t get around her on one side, he tried the other side.

She blocked him. “Inojin, what happened to you?”

Like a burst dam, he snapped, emotions suddenly pouring out of him.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Inojin shouted. “I don’t wanna talk. Stop asking questions.”

“You need to talk, though,” Ino replied levelly.

“I don’t want to!” he repeated, stomping a foot and glaring somewhere at Ino’s knees.

“Inojin, look at me.” She kept her voice steady.

“No.” He squeezed his eyes shut stubbornly.

“Just look at me, please. For a second.”

“I don’t wanna.” He clenched his hands at his sides, then changed his mind and covered his face with them.

“Inojin.” She knelt in front of him, very gently taking his wrists and pulling his hands apart.

“No!” He shook his head violently, eyes still closed. “Go away!”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Go away!” he repeated with a wail, trying to flail his arms, but finding Ino’s grip still held. “Go away, go away, go away!” He was breathing hard, trying to choke out words around tears. “Go away!”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she asked again gently.

All at once Inojin’s flare left, and he dropped down onto his knees, shaking his head. He finally opened his eyes, breathing raggedly, staring at the floor. Ino let go of his wrists, and he barrelled into her, holding on and sobbing.

Somewhat surprised, Ino couldn’t think of anything to say. She closed her arms around him, one hand stroking his hair, as he wailed into the front of her shirt. What had happened to get such a reaction out of him? “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He was trying to say something between cries and hiccups, and Ino strained to listen. Eventually, she figured out he was saying, “Shikadai.”

“Did Shikadai hurt you?” she tried. It didn’t seem a likely scenario; Shikadai was usually relaxed and patient with Inojin. But with Inojin, it could be anything. It might be something completely insignificant.

Inojin squeaked something unintelligible against her shirt.

“Did Shikadai get hurt?”

The frustrated noise came back, and Ino decided questioning could wait until Inojin had calmed down. When his sobs subsided, she sat back a bit, watching him. He wiped at his face, sniffing loudly. He didn’t look injured. He looked fine, just upset.

She reverted to easy questions. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head.

“Is Shikadai hurt?”

Inojin shrugged. He linked his fingers together, watching them.

“Did you and Shikadai have a fight?”

That coaxed a shaky nod from him, and he tried once more to walk around her. She let him this time, recognising his desire for solitude after such an emotional outburst. She returned to the kitchen, lingering over dinner preparations. Eventually, weighed down by whatever had happened, she went to Inojin’s room.

He was lying in bed, huddled under the covers, blinking slowly at the wall.

“Love?” Ino ran a hand softly through his hair. “I’m just going out to the store quick to get something for dinner. Will you be okay on your own for a few minutes?”

Inojin nodded soundlessly.

“Daddy will be home soon. Let him know where I’ve gone, okay?”

Another nod.

She hesitated, before exiting his room. It was not the store that she was aiming for, however. Determined to get the rest of the story from the half of the pair who would tell her, she strode over to Shikamaru’s house. She knew he wouldn’t be there, but Shikadai would, and hopefully he would be more willing to divulge information than Inojin had been.

She had barely finished knocking before the door opened and Temari was in front of her.

“I wondered how long it would take before I heard from you,” Temari smiled wryly. “Shikadai’s in his room.” She indicated behind her, easily guessing the reason for Ino’s sudden appearance.

“Do you know what happened?” Ino asked, following Temari through the house.

“Not in as many words. Shikadai just said he and Inojin disagreed.” Temari shrugged one shoulder. “I figured he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“How did you know something had happened?” Ino asked, because Shikadai could hide anything he was feeling easily. If Temari knew something had happened, Shikadai either had to volunteer the information, or –

Temari pushed Shikadai’s bedroom door open.

-Or Shikadai just had to have scratch marks down his cheek, dangerously close to his eye. He glanced at them, acknowledging Ino with a flick of his head. He didn’t get up from his bed.

“Shikadai,” Ino said softly. “What scratched your face?”

Shikadai coloured slightly pink. He averted his gaze, studying the ceiling with feigned nonchalance. “Nothing.”

Temari raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push him.

Ino shuffled closer, peering at the red lines down Shikadai’s cheek. They were small and close together. It didn’t take a genius to put it together, and almost mortified, she asked, “Did Inojin scratch you?”

Shikadai frowned. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Shikadai immediately rolled onto his side, facing away from her. He shrugged. “Wasn’t important.”

Ino sent Temari a helpless look. She rolled her eyes, and said firmly, “Tell her what happened, Shikadai.”

Shikadai flinched slightly at her tone, but he flopped onto his back again. “Fine, fine, what a drag. It wasn’t a big deal.” He pouted. “Some kids were making fun of Inojin. ‘Cause he doesn’t talk like them. I heard them. Inojin didn’t. They said they going to talk to him and make fun of him.” Shikadai touched his cheek tenderly. “When they went to Inojin I told him to ignore them. I told him not to talk to them. He wanted to go with them because they said they wanted to be friends, and then he got mad when I said he mustn’t go.” Now Shikadai’s blush deepened. “I . . . I used my shadow to stop him and when I let go he was really angry . . .”

Shikadai looked to his mother. “I was just trying to protect him from them.”

“So he scratched you?” Ino added. “Because he thought you were trying to stop him from making friends?”

Shikadai shrugged again. “Yeah, a little.”

Ino was caught between relief and embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Shikadai. I thought you two had been fighting.”

He pursed his lips, thinking hard. “S’fine.” He rolled onto his side again, his back to her. “’M not angry at him.” He hesitated, “Am I in trouble?”

“For what?” Ino asked, surprised he would think that.

“For,” Shikadai sat up, staring at the blankets, and rubbing at his cheek. “Using my shadows . . . Not s’posed to on friends . . .” He didn’t quite chance a glance at his mother, but his eyes flicked slightly to the side.

“We’ll talk about it when your father’s home,” Temari said, but Ino could tell from her tone alone that she wasn’t angry in the slightest. If anything, she looked quite proud, leaning against the doorframe with a gentle smile.

“Didn’t hurt him,” Shikadai muttered. “Just held him for a bit. Just to stop him following the kids.” He sighed heavily. “. . . Just ‘til he was focused on me and not them.” He looked up at Ino. “He looked at me, you know. Right at me.”

“Thank you,” Ino replied softly. “For looking out for him.”

Shikadai shrugged again, the blush returning, and he stared down once more.

Ino shifted closer. “Sit still. I’ll heal that scratch for you.”

 

By the time Ino returned home, Sai had Inojin on his lap on the couch. Inojin looked asleep, cuddled up to Sai’s chest with his eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Sai gave Ino his usual ‘I’m home’ smile.

For once, she couldn’t find the strength to return it. She sat down heavily next to him, leaning against his side.

“Where were you?” Sai asked softly, not wanting to wake Inojin. “Inojin said you were out. Well, screamed. He seemed angry.”

“The Naras.” She scrubbed a weary hand over her face. “Shikadai and Inojin had a . . . not a fight, exactly. Inojin attacked him.”

“Why?”

“Some kids were going to bully him, and Shikadai stopped them. Inojin thought they wanted to be friends, so he got angry at Shikadai for getting in the way. For not letting him talk to the other kids.”

Sai took a moment to mull that over. “Did Shikadai tell him why?”

“Apparently not.” Further questioning had revealed that Shikadai had refused to explain the entire situation to Inojin. Temari had wondered why. Ino had known. “He’s just like his father, honestly. Shikadai didn’t want Inojin to know the kids were making fun of him. So he takes the blame and acts like the bad guy, just so Inojin would be safe. And wouldn’t feel upset about being different.”

Sai glanced at Inojin’s sleeping face. “Are you going to tell him that?”

Ino shook her head. “Shikadai doesn’t want him to know. We’ll just remind him that he’s got a good friend, and hopefully the whole thing will blow over.” She reached a hand towards him, smoothing down his muted sunshine hair. Inojin moved slightly, shifting around on Sai’s lap.

His blue eyes blinked open. He looked at Ino for a fraction of a second, before looking down.

“Hey, sweetie,” Ino said softly, running her hand through his hair again. “How are you feeling?”

Inojin whined softly, squirming a bit on Sai’s lap. “Bad. Bad tummy.”

_Guilt, probably_ , Ino thought. She smoothed his hair again. “It’s okay to feel that.”

“It’s bad.”

“Some feelings are bad. They don’t all feel good. But they are all important, okay? And if you don’t like how something is feeling, you can always come to me or Daddy and we’ll talk about it.” She wanted to hug him. She wanted to pull him into her arms and kiss his sunshine hair and breathe in his warmth. She wanted to pull that guilt away from him.

But, at the same time, she was ecstatic that he felt it. Because one thing that had bothered her was that Inojin might never empathize with someone, might never be able to understand that his actions affected other people. But he was upset over attacking Shikadai, and that was progress that Ino wanted to celebrate.

Inojin sniffed loudly, bringing his hands together to entwine his fingers. He looked so miserable that it made Ino’s heart clench, but simultaneously sparked a fire of triumph that life was changing. They were getting somewhere. He was feeling something because of someone else, and that, much as it hurt him, was a beautiful thing.

“Come on,” she said softly, brushing his hair once more. “Let’s eat dinner, then you can go to bed.”

Inojin nodded dejectedly, leaning his head back into Sai’s chest. He stayed quiet all through the meal, picking disinterestedly at his food. He hated eating when he was feeling emotional. Ino tried not to worry when he wandered off to change into his pyjamas, taking dejected steps.

“He feels guilty.” She sat quietly, when it was just her and Sai lingering at the dinner table.

Sai glanced in the direction Inojin had gone. “Do we need to worry about it?”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s a good thing. He’s empathizing. He’s recognising that he did something wrong.”

“Didn’t Shikadai say Inojin was angry with him?”

“I think he is still angry,” Ino admitted. “He’s angry that Shikadai interfered with him talking to those kids, and he’s guilty for how he reacted to it. He’s not used to feeling two things at once.”

“It can be overwhelming,” Sai offered. “I found it hard to express two things at a time, as well.”

Ino nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

“But now I can,” Sai smiled proudly, and it finally coaxed a smile from Ino as well.

She glanced down the hall. “I should go check on him and put him to bed.”

“I’ll do it,” Sai said, standing up. “I haven’t spent enough time with him this week.”

“Okay.” She remained seated, relaxing slightly. “Say good night from me, too.”

“I will.”

She let out a breath once Sai left, hoping Inojin would calm down soon. It must be hard, thinking your only friend was interfering with what you wanted. She stayed at the table, thinking things over, until Sai returned, and they talked late into the evening.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a hard chapter to write. Can someone please get me a small child to cuddle?

At some point in the night, Inojin clambered over Sai to crawl into bed next to him. Naturally it woke both Sai and Ino, but neither of them objected to it. It wasn’t uncommon for Inojin to climb into bed with them, and they didn’t mind since he only did it when he was upset.

Sai pulled him close, wordless but alert, and Inojin snuggled into him, drifting easily to sleep within the comfort of his father’s arms. It clued Ino in as to how unhappy he was about everything that had happened with Shikadai.

As Inojin slept, she wondered briefly if Shikadai did this as well. Did he also climb up and huddle in Shikamaru’s arms when something went wrong in life and he didn’t know what to think of it? At times Shikadai seemed exceedingly mature for his age, but there were other times when he could throw the most impressive tantrums.

Ino knew it secretly delighted Sai that Inojin always chose him to go to. So she smiled through the darkness when Sai nuzzled the top of Inojin’s head, happy and content. At least one of her boys was satisfied, she thought.

Now she just had to figure out how to make the other one happy.

 

The next morning Inojin pointedly ignored Shikadai. He wandered away to sit in the corner of the classroom, and draw absently.

Ino was about to leave, satisfied that Inojin was at least coping, if not pleased, when her path was blocked by a small, determined Nara.

Shikadai planted himself firmly in front of her. Ino waited, amused, to see what he wanted.

The youngest Nara had his father’s piercing gaze and his mother’s sneer, and right now he looked irritated. He tossed his head slightly. “It was Sarada’s fault.”

Ino blinked. “What was?”

“The kids,” Shikadai shoved both hands in his pockets. “They approached Inojin because Sarada had. They saw her talking to him, and thought they could as well. If she hadn’t spoken to him, they would have left him alone and not bullied him.” Shikadai sounded faintly accusing.

“Shikadai. Not everyone is going to be nice to him. As much as it hurts me to say – he needs to go through things like this eventually. I’m so, so grateful that you helped him, though. But it’s no one’s fault. Certainly not Sarada’s.”

Those exotic green eyes narrowed on her. “It’s her fault.”

She stared at him, slightly amused by the fire in his eyes and scowl on his face. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing. Just wanted you to know.” Shikadai pursed his lips. “I don’t care if Inojin’s angry at me, but I don’t want him to sit by himself.” He sniffed, nose tilting upwards, and that haughty expression Ino knew wasn’t from Konoha. “I’ll still sit with him. Even if he’s angry.”

“Thank you,” she said, because she wasn’t sure what else to say to an irritated five-year-old.

Shikadai nodded once, and turned on his heel to stalk back across the room. He went to Inojin, pausing at his back for a while. When Inojin did nothing to acknowledge him, Shikadai’s bravado deflated slightly, and he moved a short distance away before sitting down. He folded his hands behind his head, back against the wall and legs outstretched, and his expression was nonchalant, but Ino could see the way he slid his eyes to Inojin with a thinly veiled touch of longing.

She decided to leave them, not wanting to interfere. They could figure it out for themselves.

 

Shikadai was waiting, as he always did, for Inojin to join him for their walk home.

Inojin made no attempt to acknowledge him, walking past without even looking at him. Shikadai fell into step behind him, undeterred by Inojin’s lack of enthusiasm. Ino was watching from inside when they came home, Shikadai pausing at the edge of the path to the door, hands still in his pockets, chin tilted defiantly up. Inojin went past him without so much as a glance.

Shikadai waited until Inojin had slammed the front door before he walked off.

Ino wondered how long it would take before Inojin spoke to him again. Inojin was rather skilled at the silent treatment. “Hey, love. How was your day?”

Inojin kicked his shoes off, not bothering to look at her. He moved silently to his mood board, plucking the neutral face off and bringing it to her, before continuing to his room.

Ino felt her heart sink. Not back to neutral. She had been so pleased and excited that Inojin had branched out from feeling nothing to feeling something. She kept a careful record of the feelings he picked from his board, and while the first few months had been nothing but neutral, he had started choosing other emotions, and she didn’t want to lose that progress.

“Inojin,” she went to his room.

He was sitting under his desk, where he liked to hide when he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Is everything okay?”

He gave her a nonchalant hum, shrugging one shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

That earned a decisive shake of the head, and Inojin shuffled around a bit, presenting his back to Ino. She took the hint, and left him alone to sulk.

Inojin was quiet for the next few days, engaging only when she coaxed him to. It put the whole house into a sombre mood, and she was struggling to maintain a façade of happiness and relaxation. Sai had noticed, of course, mentioning quietly one morning, “You’re not smiling as much.”

“I’m just . . . stressed. I don’t know how long this is going to last.”

Inojin was still studiously ignoring Shikadai, and the young Nara was seemingly unaffected by that, but Ino had noticed him looking longingly after Inojin when they walked home together, and Shikamaru had mentioned that he seemed a bit subdued.

“You’re not sleeping well,” Sai continued.

Ino sighed. “I know. I’m worried about him.”

“Give him time,” Sai suggested. “He takes a while to come to terms with things.”

She had left it at that, just moving listlessly through her daily routine. It had been at least a week when Inojin came cautiously into the kitchen as she was preparing dinner one evening.

“Mom?” It was not often that Inojin initiated a conversation, and Ino immediately dropped what she was doing to face him.

“Yes, sweetie?”

He was looking at his hands, face frowning. His baby blue eyes shone bright with wetness. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, baby? I don’t understand.” Ino was curious now, wondering what had made Inojin look so sad.

“For . . .” He paused to plan his sentence. “For . . . not being normal. I know it makes you feel bad.”

Ino’s face fell. “Inojin . . . I don’t feel bad . . .”

“You don’t smile at me,” Inojin murmured softly, watching his fingers again as he twisted them together. He flicked his eyes up to her for a moment, before looking away again.

“What do you mean?” Ino asked, a cold lump of dread gathering in her stomach.

Inojin’s brows knitted together as he fought to gather words. Finally, he stuttered out a broken explanation, “You don’t smile at me. You don’t look happy at me. I make you sad. You’re sad when we’re together.” He shuffled his feet. “You’re sad I’m different.”

Ino felt her dread solidify. “Oh, honey, no, I’m not sad. I love you so, so much. You’re my special little boy.” She knelt down, trying to pull him into a hug.

He shrunk away, angling his body towards the door, eyes down. He repeated, clearly running out of words to use, “I make you sad. You would be happy if I wasn’t me.”

“No, no, that’s not true.” Her hand hovered above his shoulder, longing to pull him close but terrified of his rejection. “Inojin, I love you very much. You make me very happy. I’m so, so lucky to have you.”

He shook his head, unable to verbalise his disagreement, but desperately trying to communicate it. He stared at the floor, hands twisting together, weight settled on the toes of one foot as he leaned away from her. “I’m sorry.”

And Ino found herself at a loss for words, unable to figure out how to say _I love you so much more than you could ever imagine and you make my whole world brighter_ in a way that he would understand and believe. “Inojin. Can I hold you, please?”

He hesitated, the low whine making an appearance as he struggled with his own reactions. Ino waited tensely.

When Inojin took too long to answer, she added hastily, “I love you. So, so much. And I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like that wasn’t true. You do make me happy, you always have . . .” She reached tentatively for his arm, closing her hand gently around his wrist.

He didn’t snatch his arm away, and Ino felt a fraction of her tension leave. Slowly, giving him ample opportunity to pull away, she gathered him up, holding him firmly against her, one hand in his hair and the other at his back. “I love you. I really, really do. More than anything.”

He made another low noise, shifting uncomfortably in her arms.

She didn’t want to let him go. Not now, not ever.

But he whispered, in a thin, careful voice, “Can I go now?”

She swallowed back her despair, voice shaking only slightly as she answered, “Of course you can. Dinner will . . .” She swallowed again. “Dinner will be ready soon. I’ll call you then, okay?”

He nodded, pulling out of her grasp. She released him reluctantly, watching him patter out the kitchen with small, timid steps.

_What am I doing wrong?_ Her heart thumped heavily in her chest, picking up speed in mild panic. _What else do I need to do to show him I love him?_

Distracted, upset, she gave up on dinner and went to the bedroom, lying on the bed and staring blankly at the wall. The house was silent – Inojin never played loudly, and nothing else broke the sombre mood. Ino had nothing but roaring silence, and the deafening thud of her heart as she felt her resolve start crumbling.

_Don’t cry,_ she told herself. _Don’t do it. Because you won’t stop._

But her heart hurt, and her stomach ached, and she felt sick with worry.

She was still lying down when Sai arrived home, puzzled by a silent house with no life moving inside. She sat up when she heard him arrive, forcibly choking back tears.

All it took was for Sai to walk into their bedroom, and Ino broke down.

“Sai,” she sobbed, face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

Sai froze in place in the doorway, wondering what he had walked into.

“He’s upset with me because he thinks he’s making me unhappy! He thinks I don’t love him because he’s different!” Her crying finally became too much, and she gave up on verbal communication and linked them telepathically, pouring out her worries, _Sai, he said he makes me sad – that’s what he sees when we’re together. That’s what he recognises. He says I don’t smile at him because I’m unhappy with him. Sai, I love him so much. More than anything, more than the world, and I wish I could show him that. It’s too much, it’s all too much, I’m an absolute failure as a mother-_

“You’re not,” Sai interrupted gently, coming closer. His mind was reeling from her assault, emotions snapping in hot and cold flashes throughout his body, a rare example of Ino being out of control. “I promise you’re not.”

“He’s so unhappy!” she wailed, throwing herself against Sai’s chest as he approached. “Everything is going wrong, I don’t know what to do! Nothing is working!”

He held her somewhat awkwardly, unsure of how to comfort her. “We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s the same every day. There’s no change, there’s no progress.” It was exhausting, it was draining, and it was slowly wearing Ino’s resolve down. She felt trapped in her own home, in her own life. Her perfect life, her perfect family, was shattering around her.

“He’s fine, Beautiful. He’s our child. He’s all you, and all me, and that will be enough.” Cautiously, Sai held her, stroking his fingers through her long hair, trying to figure out what to say. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

Ino cried quietly against him, muffling sobs in his shirt, occasionally jerking softly as she supressed a wet hiccup. Sai leant his chin on her head, gazing thoughtfully at nothing. _This has to change_ , he thought. _We can’t live every day like this._

His wife and son were breaking each other down, with too much and too little, and no middle ground. Maybe it would help to take a step back, to gain some perspective.

“You need a break,” Sai muttered into her hair. “You need to take a few days off. I’ll be fine with Inojin. Go somewhere to relax. Please, you need it.”

“I can’t just leave, and it’ll make it worse . . . he’ll think I’m trying to get away from him . . .”

Sai held her tighter. “I’ll sort it out.”

“And I can’t leave him-“

“Please. Do it for me. Please.” Sai rolled her pale gold hair around one finger. “I’ll look after him. But you also need to look after you.”

Ino’s voice wavered. “You’ll take care of him?”

“I’ll protect him with my life,” he promised solemnly. He didn’t need to say it; Ino had known he would since before Inojin was born. “But please take some time for yourself.”

“Sai . . .”

“You need it. Please. Just call Sakura, and spend a few days with her. Inojin will be fine with me.”

She knew he was making sense, and she was overwhelmed, and did need the mental break, but the thought of it was sickening. She shouldn’t need a break from her own child, that was unfathomable. It made her feel like a complete failure, too weak to even tolerate her child’s presence. That notion brought her tears on afresh, and eventually Sai eased her onto the bed, never once letting go of her, but murmuring things into her hair.

Once she calmed herself down enough, Sai phoned Sakura, explained the situation, and told her to do whatever she needed to get the next few days off.

Sakura was at their door in an hour.

Ino had never been more grateful to her friend.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

There had been many days when Inojin had woken up to find Sai gone on a mission, but this was the first time he woke up to find his mother gone. Sai had come into his room, opening the curtains, and Inojin had blinked his eyes open, retreating deeper into his pillow as consciousness rushed in.

“Morning,” Sai greeted, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Inojin squeezed his eyes shut, but he offered a smile.

“Mom’s away, so we’re taking the day off to do whatever you want.”

Inojin didn’t say anything, but he peeked one eye open and nodded his understanding.

It was only once he was sitting at the table picking at breakfast that he seemed to wonder why Sai was still at home with him, and not away at work as was usual. The disruption in his routine was unsettling, and he whined softly to get Sai’s attention.

Once his father was looking at him, Inojin paused, looking pointedly from Sai, to the door, and back to Sai.

Sai smiled at him, not in the least concerned when Inojin’s gaze dropped away.

“Just you and me for a few days,” Sai said, guessing Inojin’s questioning look was asking why Sai hadn’t left for work. “Is there anything you want to do together?”

Inojin shrugged, staring at his food. He could be a fussy eater when he was upset, and now seemed to be making the decision on whether or not to bother finishing breakfast. Sai went quiet, not wanting to add anything that might discourage his son from eating. When Inojin continued with breakfast, Sai let out a tense breath.

Ino wouldn’t be pleased, but yes/no questions were easier, and Sai didn’t have to worry about consequences. “Do you want us to go out somewhere together?”

Inojin stopped to think about that, and after a moment of consideration, nodded.

“Do you want to invite Shikadai?”

A brief shake of the head – he wanted one to one time with Sai. Sai wasn’t sure if Inojin and Shikadai were speaking again just yet.

“Do you want us to go and play together?”

Inojin smiled then, nodding enthusiastically.

Sai relaxed. This was going to be easy. Now, he needed to challenge Inojin just slightly. “We can go to the field and play. If you can tell me what you’re eating for breakfast.”

Inojin regarded him suspiciously, weighing his options. But, finally, he lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, and stated, “Eggs.”

“And?”

“Other things.”

“Tell me what they are.”

Inojin grumbled under his breath. He pushed his bangs from his eyes, and said in a snappy tone, “It’s vegetables. Don’t know what all are.”

Neither did Sai. Ino had left a concoction cut up in the fridge for him to add to meals. He could recognise the mushrooms, but that was about it. There was a lot of green. “That’s okay. You told me. So it’s fine.”

Inojin relaxed, and continued eating. Sai studied him, watching him eat. His hair was getting long. It curled around his ears, and hung in wispy tufts from the back of his neck. Ino loved it, she wanted to grow it out long enough to braid and fiddle with. His sky blue eyes were focused downwards, lost in thought.

“Your mother loves you,” Sai said suddenly, almost surprised at saying it out loud.

Inojin didn’t look up.

“Did you know, before you were born, she got very sick. She had to go to the hospital. But she didn’t want to take anything that would make her feel better, in case it hurt you. And,” Sai continued, “When you were very small she was working at the hospital for almost two days without sleep. But instead of sleeping when she could, she came home to see you. And whenever you cried in the middle of the night she always got up to sit with you, because she said that the most beautiful moments were the ones that were just you and her, while the whole world was paused.”

Sai watched Inojin carefully. “She’s loved you since before you were born. All she wants is for you to be happy.”

Inojin poked his food, lower lip stuck out slightly.

“She’s hoping one day you’ll be able to tell her that. That you’re happy, and you love her. And really mean it. Because she knows exactly what it’s like to love someone who doesn’t know how to love her back. But she’s going to give it her all, and she’s never going to leave you or love you any less. You already make her happy. She wants to make you happy too.”

Inojin heaved a sigh, pushing his plate away. “’M not hungry.”

Sai had expected that. He accepted it without a fuss. “Okay. You can go and get dressed, and then we can go out together.”

Inojin climbed slowly off his seat, keeping his eyes on the floor as he pattered softly out the room. He looked deep in thought, and Sai hoped he had been listening to what he had been told.

 

There was a large field not too far from where they lived. Sai liked to go there to paint landscapes, since most of the year the field was dotted with various flowers. It made for vibrant colours, greens and blues and pinks and whites. Sometimes yellow and orange, and purple. Rarely – and he had been lucky enough to see it once and sketch it quickly – one of the Nara deer would wander far from home and into the field, making a picturesque statue that Sai itched to get painted.

Right now, the field was empty of wildlife. But not flowers.

Inojin plopped down on the grass to study them, interested in how they swayed gently with the breeze. Sai sat a little way off, setting up his easel and paints. Inojin remained occupied, happy to sit in silence, and Sai kept an eye on him as he painted.

Eventually Inojin came to his side. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Lots of flowers.”

“Yes. How many?”

Inojin shrugged, watching Sai’s paintbrush. “Didn’t count. Why so many?”

“Different flowers mean different things,” Sai explained, painting surely.

“Like my faces?” Inojin queried.

“Yes, basically.” Sai figured that was an easy comparison for him. “You have faces to show your feelings. And sometimes flowers can do that too.”

“Give?” Inojin asked, and when Sai cocked his head questioningly, Inojin stumbled over a more elaborate explanation. “Can . . . flowers . . . _give_ someone a feeling?”

“You mean like happiness? Yes. If you give someone a flower, the flower can make them happy.”

“Better words?”

“Full sentence, Inojin. Think, and then talk.”

Inojin grumbled. “Flowers better than words to tell feelings?”

“I suppose they can be,” Sai considered, leaning back on his hands. “The meanings aren’t confusing.” Flowers had helped Sai express feelings, back in the days when he had no idea how to do it. Ino taught him the meanings of flowers, and more than once he had presented her with a flower in an attempt to communicate what he was thinking.

“Hmmm,” Inojin whined, shifting uncomfortably. “What do all these flowers say?”

Sai was not well versed on wildflowers. “I don’t know all of these. The white ones are daisies.” He studied his son, who was fretting in place, clearly unsettled by something. “Inojin?”

“Hm?”

“Why don’t you collect one of every flower, and we can take them home and look them up?”

Inojin’s frown deepened. He twisted his fingers together. The habit annoyed Sai, but he hadn’t said anything about it yet because it didn’t seem fair to ask Inojin to stop something that made him feel comforted. Finally, Inojin nodded, “Okay.”

He wandered off, and Sai kept half an eye on him while he painted. Inojin’s little pile of flowers grew, and eventually he returned to Sai’s side to sit next to him, twirling a little orange flower between his fingers.

“Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Daisies.”

“This one.” Sai selected the daisy from the pile and handed it to Inojin.

Inojin studied the flower closely. “Mom likes these?”

“Yes, she does.”

Inojin went quiet then, looking deep in thought. Sai wondered what was going on in his mind as he touched the delicate petals of the flower, lifted it to his face to sniff at it curiously. After a long silence, Inojin moved onto Sai’s lap, still clutching the daisy, and watched his father paint.

He relaxed into Sai’s chest, little eyes drooping closed, and Sai felt him fall asleep. He made sure Inojin was stable and wouldn’t topple over, and continued to paint. He passed most of the morning like that, until his painting was finished.

Inojin woke up enough to gather up the flowers he had collected, and then Sai picked him up with one arm, and his easel and paints with the other, and carried everything home.

 

Ino couldn’t shake the sick feeling that she had been defeated.

She sat next to Sakura on a low bench in the fading sunlight. They had booked a hotel a few hours outside of Konoha, for the change of scenery and the break from all the pressure at home. Pressure, and the feeling that Inojin hated her.

She still didn’t know how to process that.

“I ran away,” Ino said miserably. “I ran away from my baby because I . . . just . . . can’t . . .”

Sakura laid a sympathetic hand on her back. “Tell me everything, Ino. Everything you feel.”

“No one understands. How could they? Look at you, look at Sarada. She’s perfect, she never struggles with anything. Boruto talks nonstop and smiles at everyone, he’s always so happy. Chocho’s perfect, too, and Shikadai, _god_ . . . You’ve all done so well, and then there’s me: absolutely failing at raising a child.”

“You’re not failing,” Sakura said. “If anything, you’re doing the best.”

“I’m not.”

“Sarada is easy. I don’t have any problems with her, nothing more than the normal parental challenges. And no one else has problems either. We all got the easy way out, but you . . . You got challenged. You got all the problems and all the struggles. And you know what?” Sakura’s voice lightened a bit. “No one could have handled it as well as you.”

Ino threw her a doubtful look.

“I’m serious. Could you imagine Chouji being quiet and patient? He would try to cure his child with food, and would be baffled when it didn’t work.”

Ino smiled slightly.

“And Naruto – he has a hard enough time coping with himself; imagine a child that needed extra attention! Or poor Hinata – she has her hands full already putting up with him. She would need the whole Hyuuga clan just to help her get through the day.”

Ino chuckled a bit. “Okay, I see your point.”

“And Shikamaru,” Sakura added with a dramatic sigh. “Can you imagine? He’s so used to Shikadai being independent, imagine him dealing with a child who wasn’t a genius? He wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I get it,” Ino laughed genuinely now. “I’m amazing, and everyone else sucks at parenting.”

“Exactly,” Sakura grinned. “And you have Sai to help you. He adores Inojin, you couldn’t have gotten luckier. And you know,” she added, “Things will get better. Inojin will learn. He isn’t always going to need you as much as he does now, and he isn’t always going to be as difficult to handle as he is now.”

“That isn’t true,” Ino murmured. “You know as well as I do that he can’t be cured, only taught.”

“And the specialist said he wasn’t that bad, and there’s no reason he won’t be exactly the same as everyone else in a few years,” Sakura pointed out.

“That’s hard to believe right now,” Ino said in a low voice. “I see him every day, and he’s not improving as much as he should be. He’s still getting stuck on things that should have been resolved months ago. He still finds it difficult to tell me what he’s feeling. He still gets frustrated when he is feeling things.”

“And that will get better with time,” Sakura soothed. “Ino, you’re stressing over things that are going to improve.”

“We don’t know they’re going to improve,” Ino sounded exasperated. “Stop trying to fill me with false hope. You’ve _seen_ him; I’m not doing enough. I’m not . . . I’m not the right person to help him. There are too many things I want him to be and it’s getting in the way of me accepting what he is. I want to know the clan will be okay, but I don’t know if Inojin will be up to leading a clan ever. I want to know that he will be a shinobi and there is no way to predict that. I want to know he’ll be able to feel love and fall in love . . .”

So many traditions clouded her every thought, her every move. So many things weighed down every interaction with Inojin.

Sakura studied her carefully, choosing her words wisely. “Ino. I know there’s a lot expected of him. And I know the future worries you. But our generation overcame challenges much harder, and there’s no reason Inojin won’t as well. Look at everything we achieved, look at some of the hardships we overcame. It’s doable. Inojin will be able to be a shinobi if he wants to. And if he doesn’t . . .” She hesitated. “If he doesn’t, it won’t matter. There’s a world of peace, and so many other things he can do.”

“It’s tradition,” Ino said stubbornly. “For him to be a shinobi. That’s what defines our clan.”

“I know it’s tradition. But things change, and sometimes traditions change as well. Maybe Inojin’s just helping you with that. Maybe he’s going to show you that your path isn’t set in stone from your birth.”

Ino looked sideways at her.

“New traditions, and old traditions . . . I’m not part of a clan with those, or any great history with the Leaf. So, the only traditions I have are ones I make myself. You’re the head of your clan.” She put her arm around Ino’s shoulders, drawing her comfortingly close, “So make your own traditions.”

 

Ino stood outside the front door, gathering her nerve. Coming home shouldn’t make her nervous, but she was so worried about what Inojin was thinking and feeling.

She took in a deep breath, preparing herself. She knew what she wanted to say.

That she loved Inojin very much. That he was the best thing to ever happen to her. That she loved him every minute of every day, and she was so sorry she had ever made him doubt that. And she would smile at him, and tell him a thousand times a day that she loved him. So that he would never doubt it again.

She didn’t get very far. She pushed the front door open, words ready and thoughts finally calmed down.

Inojin heard the door open, and peeked out into the hall to see who it was. When he saw Ino, he darted back into the kitchen, and Ino’s heart sank a fraction. Was he running away? She stayed in the door way, trying to regain the calm she had perfected earlier.

There were pattering footsteps, and then Inojin was back, running down the hall to her. “Mm,” he said, in lieu of a complete word. He stopped in front of her, holding his fist up. A neat little posy of daisies was held in his hand. “Happy flowers. For you.”

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry . . ._ Ino lowered herself to her knees.

Inojin flicked his eyes to her for less than a second, then squeezed them closed and smiled broadly. It was such a Sai expression that Ino’s heart pounded, delighted at the resemblance. He opened his eyes, looking at the flowers. “Happy flowers,” he repeated. “Smiling flowers.”

And she did smile, she really did, broad and overwhelming and her heart bursting love. “I love them.”

Inojin smiled shyly, looking sideways at her. “Me?” he asked.

“I love you too,” Ino confirmed. “So, so much.” She took a moment to breathe, reining in her emotions. “Can I get a hug?”

That was a risk, asking for too much again. But sometimes, asking for too much paid off.

Inojin leaned a bit closer to her, not saying a word, but when Ino wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close he sighed, and she felt the tension melt away from him. And she thought, and really believed, for the first time, that maybe Sai was right.

Inojin was going to be fine.

 

The next day, Inojin came toddling up to Ino where she was working, the wildflower booked tucked under his arm. He placed the book next to her on the couch, then climbed up as well. Ino put her pen down, figuring she could delay looking things over. “What do you need, sweetie?”

Inojin sat on her lap, reaching to pick the book up and spread it across his legs. “Flowers.”

“Yes, I see that. What about them?”

Inojin drew in a deep breath. “Dad says flowers can be feelings. So . . . a flower can go with every face?” He glanced up at her briefly.

Ino puzzled that over in her head for a moment. “Do you want to find a flower that goes with each face your father drew for you?”

Inojin nodded enthusiastically.

“Alright. Should we start with ‘happy’?”

Inojin shook his head. “Daisy.”

“What about daisies?”

“Already have happy flower,” he elaborated. “Daisy.”

“Okay. Daisy flowers for the happy face. Which one is next?” Ino looked at the book over his shoulder.

Inojin turned pages in the book. “Sad.”

“Okay. Let’s find a flower that means ‘sad’.” Ino guided his hands in turning the pages.

They sat like that for most of the afternoon, with Inojin moving occasionally to his mood board to find new faces. By the time evening rolled around, he sat in a puddle of papers on the floor, with Sai’s faces all around him, and his own drawings of the flowers scattered amongst them.

Sai came home to find Inojin pairing up flowers and faces, murmuring each expression and the name of each flower as he did so.

Ino smiled broadly at him from the couch. “He’s been busy all day.”

Inojin finally noticed his father, looking up briefly. He dropped his gaze back to his papers, selecting one and holding it out.

Sai stepped close enough to take the proffered sketch. “What’s this?”

“Daisy,” Inojin said with a shrug. “Makes you happy.” He hesitated. “Is . . . is it working?”

Sai smiled warmly. “Oh, yes. It’s definitely working.”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Inojin was now armed with a vast array of ways to communicate, and Ino finally felt like the tension she had been living with was starting to melt away slightly. Inojin came spinning home from day-care, sometimes with a flower to hand to her in lieu of going to his mood board.

It helped immensely. Ino would sit in the flower shop, working, and Inojin would sit in the corner drawing. When he finished, he would present her with his sketch, and they would talk about the flower he drew and what it meant. And to Ino’s delight, Inojin was learning the name of every flower in the shop.

They weren’t words he could use in conversation, but they were words, and he used them happily at home. She was discovering that, distracted by a sketch, Inojin would talk more openly. She had him between two flower pots in the shop, paper pad on his knees and back against one of the glass windows.

“Inojin?”

“Hm?” He didn’t look up, but his mouth twitched in a small smile.

“How is Shikadai?”

The smile vanished. Inojin’s hand stopped moving across the paper. “. . . Dunno.”

“Don’t you talk to him at day-care?”

Inojin shrugged.

“He still walks you home every day. Are you not talking to him?”

“Don’t have anything to talk about.”

_Oh_. Ino hadn’t realised that Inojin was still studiously ignoring Shikadai. Clearly the Yamanaka ability to not only hold a grudge but also over react was very much present in her son. “Are you still angry at him?”

“Not angry much.” Inojin resumed his drawing. “Not sure if friends anymore.”

“Did you ask him if you were still friends?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Don’t mind not talking. We still sit close.”

Inojin might not mind, but Ino was pretty sure Shikadai was taking it personally. She offered a tentative suggestion, “You should ask him if he still wants to be friends.”

“He doesn’t want me to have friends. He stopped me making friends.” Inojin shrugged again. “So he doesn’t want to be friends.”

That wasn’t good to hear. Inojin sounded so satisfied with his explanation. Clearly, an olive branch wasn’t going to come from him. Ino was going to have to talk to Shikadai instead.

 

Ino knew Shikadai didn’t like it when she joined him to walk Inojin home, because it was ‘their’ time, but she couldn’t help but subtly be gardening in the front when they did arrive, mostly because she wanted to talk to Shikadai – to try to convince him not to take Inojin’s silence personally, and to please give him a chance and stay friends.

The boys wandered to the front path, and Inojin moved away from Shikadai without acknowledging him. Shikadai let him get half way before he worked up the nerve to call out.

“Inojin.”

Inojin slowed down, but did not turn around.

“Inojin, wait.” Shikadai took a few steps down the path, then stopped. “Don’t be a drag, I wanna talk.”

Inojin stopped then, half turning around.

“I know you’re still mad at me, and I don’t care about that. You can feel whatever you want.” His shoulders sagged. “I didn’t stop you from making friends with those kids. I just . . . I stopped you from making the wrong friends.” His eyes roamed over the grass. “They weren’t people you needed in your life.”

Inojin turned fully, looking at a point somewhere above Shikadai’s shoulder.

“You can stay mad at me, I don’t care,” the very slight tremble in his voice sounded to the contrary, “But I still wanna be friends. So if you want me to still talk to you and sit with you . . . you don’t have to tell me, but just let me know, somehow.”

Shikadai sighed, mumbling softly, “Was just trying to protect you.”

Ino wondered how that would turn out. Shikadai’s cheeks were burning red, thoroughly embarrassed by his words.

“Protect me?” Inojin’s voice was small, fingers coming together.

Shikadai nodded, gaze wandering around. “You know. Because that’s what friends do.”

When Inojin didn’t move, Shikadai sighed. “I’ll go home now. See you tomorrow, maybe.”

“Wait!” Inojin leaned forward a step, then caught himself, and paused.

Shikadai stayed put, head tilting slightly.

“I . . .” Inojin took hesitant steps towards his friend. “Not saying anything, but can I . . . show something?”

“Yeah,” Shikadai shrugged. “You can show me whatever you want.”

To Ino’s complete surprise and fiery glee, Inojin closed his eyes tightly, pulling his hands apart and throwing his arms around Shikadai in a sudden, decisive hug. She had to resist the urge to scream in delight, clapping both hands over her mouth.

Shikadai, hesitantly, returned the embrace, cheeks still pink. He pulled away, one hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. Inojin stared at the ground.

“’Kay,” Shikadai said. “Cool. See ya tomorrow.”

Inojin made an acknowledging humming sound, not glancing up as Shikadai spun on his heel and ambled away. Inojin squeaked, hands balling into fists.

“Hey, sweetie,” Ino came up to him. He stuck his face resolutely into the side of her leg to hide, hands holding tightly to her skirt. “How are you feeling?”

With a shy mumble, barely audible, Inojin replied, “Daisy.”

 

“Darling,” Ino asked one morning, catching Inojin’s attention away from his toast. “What do you want to do for your birthday?”

Inojin shrugged, which was his default reaction when asked a question that required a verbal response.

“Think about it, and then tell me.”

“Hm,” he pushed his plate away, stomach churning nervously at being forced to communicate. Ino wanted to break that habit as soon as possible. She made a point to ask him questions when he was eating, until the need for a response no longer upset him. He was thinking hard. Finally, he looked at her, blue eyes holding her gaze for a second before dropping away. “Spend time with Shikadai.”

“Doing what?” Ino rested her chin on one palm, elbow on the table.

Inojin poked listlessly at his food. “Dunno.”

“Take a minute to think about it.”

Inojin made a pained expression, but Ino didn’t let him wriggle out of answering.

“You can answer later today, but you need to decide on something.”

He sighed heavily, sinking down slightly in his seat. With a hesitant glance at her, and swiftly away, he mumbled, “Stay over maybe.”

“What do you mean?” Ino pushed gently, trying to get more out of him.

Inojin shook his head, blonde bangs flying. “Shikadai. Stay here. All night.”

“A sleepover?”

He nodded vigorously, quick to grasp any excuse to stay silent.

“Okay. But you have to ask him, alright?”

Inojin sighed again, but he nodded. He poked at his food again, shifting the toast around his plate.

“Good boy.” Ino got up, coming around to him to place a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m going to the shop to work for a bit. Come and find me when you’re ready.”

She left the kitchen, but paused just around the doorway, craning her head slightly to keep an eye on Inojin.

He stared at his food for a while, fidgeting slightly in his seat. Ino had almost given up on anything happening when he picked up his toast and started chewing thoughtfully.

She grinned to herself. _We’re getting there_.

 

Ino spent more time than she would care to admit trying to make cupcakes with decorative daisies on them. After the third batch that looked like poorly executed fried eggs, she gave up, and called Karui.

Karui swept into the kitchen with Chocho at her side, determined to teach Ino.

“If he likes daisies, you better learn to make decent ones,” she said, and Chocho nodded sagely in agreement. “You, of all people, should know what a flower looks like.”

“Can you be a little less judgy of my baking skills and a little more helpful?” Ino raised an eyebrow.

Chocho was busily eating the duds. “They taste fine, but they look terrible.” The tact from a six-year-old was always less than impressive.

“I don’t spend a lot of time making fancy cupcakes,” Ino defended, moving out the way as Karui deftly began mixing a bowl of batter seemingly from memory. “But Inojin wanted daisies.”

“The happy flowers,” Chocho said.

“He told you that?” Ino looked surprised.

“Yeah. Sarada and I were making daisy chains at day-care one day and he told us about it.”

Ino tried not to squeal at the revelation that Inojin actually spoke unprompted at school.

“We tried to make him a daisy crown,” Chocho continued, studying Ino’s failed cupcakes and shaking her head slightly. “But Shikadai said boys don’t wear flowers.”

_Of course he did_ , Ino rolled her eyes. That was Shikamaru’s misguided parenting there. She made a mental note to have a talk with him.

“But still,” Chocho shrugged. “He said daisies are happy flowers. So it makes sense to give him daisy cupcakes, because that’ll make him extra happy. Because cupcakes make people happy already.”

Ino couldn’t fault her logic.

“What’s the birthday plan?” Karui asked, efficiently working and making Ino feel thoroughly inadequate.

“He wanted a sleep over with Shikadai.” Ino hovered. “Can I help?”

“We have everything under control,” Karui said breezily. “Continue with whatever other preparations are needed.”

Inojin wandered past the kitchen, pausing when he noticed the two visitors. He stopped, staring at their feet.

“Hello, Inojin,” Karui said warmly. “Happy birthday.”

“Hm,” he nodded once, hands coming together to fidget nervously. Chocho moved boldly towards him, arms held out.

“You need a birthday hug,” she announced.

Inojin flinched away, face contorting briefly with a wince. He shook his head.

Chocho stream rolled over his protests. “Yes, you do. That’s what birthdays are for.”

“No,” Inojin said, taking another step back.

“Chocho,” Karui broke in. “Go fetch what you made him. He’ll like that.”

“Okay,” Chocho sent Inojin a stern look. “But you’re getting a hug when I get back.” She flounced past him, towards the front door.

Inojin came shyly into the kitchen, creeping to Ino’s side and gripping her skirt tightly with one hand. He angled his body away from Karui.

She did not seem to mind. “Chocho spent some time yesterday making you something, Inojin. She’s fetching it now.”

He stayed completely still.

“Look!” Chocho reappeared in the doorway, back from her escapade to the front door. She held up both hands proudly. A bright flower crown was strung between her fingers; mostly white daisies and a few pale blue flowers.

Inojin peered cautiously out from behind his mother, but made no move to go closer to her.

“Sarada helped,” Chocho continued, approaching him casually. She plopped the flower crown onto his head, stepping back with her head slanted to eye him critically. “Yup, looks good.”

She smiled broadly. “It’s made with happy flowers, mostly, to make you happy.”

Inojin reached a hand up, fingers tentatively brushing against the petals. He met her eyes shyly, just long enough to give her a small, but sincere, smile, before his cheeks coloured faintly pink and he looked down at his toes. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Now hug,” Chocho demanded, holding her arms open wide. “You have to, it’s the rules.”

Ino stayed quiet, wondering how Inojin would handle it. He regarded Chocho for a moment, before heaving a deep sigh.

“Shikadai says you’re a drag.” He edged closer to her though, fidgeting his fingers together and staring at the floor.

Chocho ignored his statement, embracing him firmly. At first Inojin tensed, and Ino expected him to pull away and run from the room. But he relaxed in Chocho’s hold, eyes falling closed, and while he made no move to return the hug, he stayed resting against her.

Ino met Karui’s eyes, and the other woman smiled at her warmly, expression soft and proud.

Chocho eventually let Inojin go, and he squeaked a bit, overwhelmed, before leaving the kitchen at a brisk walk. Ino assumed he was going to retreat under his desk.

“He’s shy,” Chocho declared. “Always runs away after hugs.”

“Come on,” Karui said. “Help me get these cupcakes made. Leave Inojin alone for a while.”

Chocho happily bounced across the kitchen to assist. She chattered freely, oblivious to anything but what was in front of her.

But Karui noticed, and indicated to Ino with a jerk of her head, that there was a fresh daisy and a wisp of blonde hair overlapping the doorframe, as Inojin sat against the wall, listening in on the conversation.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want cupcakes.


	12. Chapter 12

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Ino muttered, fussing with her hair, since she already knew her outfit was immaculate. She stared at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. “What if he gets upset? What if he stops talking?”

“Calm down.” Sai sounded perfectly relaxed, dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s not a life or death situation.”

“But there’s so much that can go wrong. There’s so many things to worry about.”

Sai cocked his head to the side. “We decided it would be fine.”

“What if it’s not fine?”

“It’s not that dramatic.”

Inojin appeared in the doorway, blonde hair rumpled from a restless night, but he looked calm and ready.

“It’s just his first day of school.”

 

“Remember to talk to people,” Ino reminded him, for the hundredth time that day alone – and it wasn’t even nine in the morning. “Especially your teacher. Tell her if you need something.”

“Hm,” Inojin acknowledged, skipping at her side, holding her hand obligingly (Mostly because she wouldn’t let him go.) It was only Ino dropping him off; Sai had to go in for a mission.

The decision to send Inojin to school had been nerve-wracking. Part of her had wanted to send him to a private tutor for the first few years. Sai wanted to wait another year. The problem there was that he would be a year behind the rest of his ‘team’. It had been Shikamaru who had finally placated them into making a decision – he stated that if they wanted to wait, they could. With the peaceful times they lived in it was not necessary to have the new Shika-Ino-Cho team formed as soon as possible. Inojin could join a year late if needed.

But, he had pointed out, sending him to school to be around them would probably be helpful. Making friends, learning alongside his peers, would equip him with the skills needed for the future. And his friends would step up and help him.

“They’re a team, Ino,” he had drawled, as though he was the resident expert on parenting, the lazy prick, “Let them be a team.”

And so it was that Inojin was starting school at the same time as the rest of his peers. And it had been keeping Ino up for weeks. (Except for one night when she and Sakura went out and got absolutely hammered; she had slept so well Sai had checked her pulse periodically throughout the night.)

“I’ll be right here to fetch you in the afternoon,” she continued. “And you can call me if you need me, okay? I’ll be at home.”

“He’s fine.” The laid back voice took her by surprise, and Ino turned slightly to see Shikadai walking alongside her, hands linked behind his head. “I’m with him.”

“Where are your parents?” Ino asked, wonderingly. Surely Shikadai wasn’t reaching the milestone of First Day At School all alone?

“Dad’s at work, Mom’s in Suna,” Shikadai explained. “I didn’t mind coming on my own. It’s just school. It’s a drag, but it’s not a big deal.”

_Not for you_ , Ino thought. There had been no challenges in Shikadai’s life – he had breezed through everything. Getting Inojin to not only agree to this, but also be interested in it, was a miracle.

Inojin slowed down as they approached the school, suddenly baulking slightly at the sight of so many people. He shrank closer to Ino’s side.

“It’s just like day-care,” she assured.

He didn’t look convinced. “Lots of people.”

“Yes, but they’re all friendly. Everything will be fine.”

Inojin nodded, looking more confident. He pried his hand free of Ino’s, edging closer to Shikadai.

Ino stopped at the entrance to the school, wanting the boys to go on ahead.

“Shikadai!” A loud voice cut through the buzz of children.

Shikadai turned his head towards the sound, expression lighting up. “Boruto.”

He left Inojin’s side, moving to greet Boruto with an affectionate fist bump.

Inojin hung back, watching them warily. Shikadai chatted easily with Boruto, talking and laughing, and Inojin took a step back, feeling as though he didn’t belong. He turned his expression towards Ino, eyes looking away.

“It’s okay,” she encouraged. “You can talk to Boruto, too. Shikadai won’t mind.”

Inojin hesitated, shaking his head slightly.

“Go on.” She pushed him gently by the shoulder, trying to get him closer. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be here waiting at the end of the day.”

Inojin crept up to Shikadai’s side, not daring to say a word. He stood patiently, but Shikadai didn’t turn his attention to him, too busy laughing with Boruto. Eventually, Inojin tugged his sleeve, unsure of how else to get him to notice.

Shikadai glanced at him. “Hey, Inojin.”

“Oh. Hi.” Boruto’s smile vanished. “You’re here too.”

Inojin stayed quiet, but kept his hold on Shikadai’s sleeve.

“You don’t have to hold onto me,” Shikadai said. “I know you’re there. You can hang out with us.”

Boruto sent him a look, and Shikadai replied with a narrow-eyed warning glance. Inojin edged closer to him, looking for security. He learned very quickly that school was not going to be as low key as day-care. Something about the way Boruto stared at his hold on Shikadai’s sleeve and sent furtive glances at him made him nervous. It made focusing difficult, and by the end of the first day, he was fretful and tense.

The rest of the week was not much better. Inojin did not think much of sharing his best friend.

Boruto and Shikadai had always spent a lot of time together, and he knew that, but it was different now. Now, Boruto was around every day. Shouting and laughing and taking Shikadai’s attention. Pulling his focus to places other than at Inojin’s side.

It was frustrating, and Inojin didn’t like it. He couldn’t hope to speak over Boruto, so when the other boy was talking – yelling – Inojin couldn’t get Shikadai’s attention. He had to resort to yanking at his sleeve, and even then Shikadai would often wave him away until Boruto was done.

“I don’t like Boruto,” Inojin grumbled one day, walking home next to Ino in a huff. “He talks too much.”

Bemused, Ino waited to see if Inojin would elaborate.

“Loud.”

“Full sentences, please.”

Inojin huffed again. “Boruto steals Shikadai all the time.”

“They are friends, you know.”

“I know.” Inojin fiddled his fingers together, speaking very softly, “But Boruto has other friends. I only have Shikadai.”

“You could make other friends,” Ino suggested, because that had been the whole point of school.

“Or Boruto could go away,” Inojin mumbled. He aimed a half hearted kick at the grass next to the road as they walked, frustrated but not sure what to do about it.

Once they were home, he stomped irritably to his mood board, not bothering to wait the full minute he was supposed to use to make a decision, and snatched up the angry face, holding it out for Ino to take. He stomped away as soon as she had it, and Ino hid a smile behind her hand.

It was nice watching Inojin branch out from apathy, even though he didn’t seem to be embracing his new-found emotional range with much enthusiasm. It gave her hope that he was adjusting to seeing the world normally.

Life was frustrating and challenging, and rarely perfect, and it was nice to have Inojin exposed to that in safe and inconsequential ways. She just hoped he didn’t get too annoyed at Boruto, because she didn’t know what Shikadai would do if asked to choose between the two of them.

A few days later, Inojin dragged Shikadai home with him defiantly, jealously preventing him from spending any more time with Boruto. Ino had a feeling that rivalry was going to cause trouble later down the road, but for now, Shikadai didn’t seem to mind being dragged in two directions by two hot-headed blondes.

Ino left them alone for a while, although she often wondered what they did together all the time. Did Inojin talk more when it was just him and Shikadai? Or did Shikadai just natter on alone? It wouldn’t surprise her if Shikadai slept while Inojin drew.

Ino was about to enter Inojin’s room to ask if they needed anything when Shikadai’s voice cut through the silence.

“We’re going out for milkshakes after school tomorrow,” Shikadai explained. “Wanna come with?”

Ino paused to hear Inojin’s reply.

“Who?” Her son sounded slightly strained.

“Me, Boruto, and Sarada.”

“Sit?” Inojin queried, and Ino frowned. What did he mean by ‘sit’?

“I’ll sit next to you,” Shikadai replied without hesitation. “Like I always do. And Sarada can sit opposite you. Unless you need me to do that? You don’t have to look at her. She doesn’t mind.”

“Talk?”

Ino suppressed a frustrated growl. Single words, all the time. He was supposed to be using full sentences, and he knew that. But Shikadai was quick thinking and smart, and he often caught the meaning behind Inojin’s cryptic, short answers.

Shikadai continued. “You don’t have to talk.”

_Yes, he does_ , Ino bit her lip. _Please, Shikadai, make him talk to someone_.

She couldn’t hear Inojin’s murmured reply, but it must have been affirmative, because Shikadai said brightly, “We can go to my house afterwards and play.”

If Inojin said anything after that, Ino didn’t catch it, but she did hear Shikadai add, “I’ll ask your mom.”

She wanted to interject, to say quickly ‘He has to ask me himself’, but she didn’t want them to know she had been listening. So, feeling defeated, she moved away.

Shikadai came to find her before he left later, explaining what he and Inojin had decided, and even though she knew she would worry, she agreed to let him go. After all, she couldn’t discourage him from spending time with his friends and trying new things.

It just felt hard to let go when Inojin had needed her so much for so long.

 

In an effort not to sit at home agonizing over Inojin being out in public without her, Ino forced Temari to come out to tea with her, on the grounds that she wasn’t looking after Shikadai since he was out with Inojin.

“I do work, you know,” Temari protested vaguely when Ino showed up at her door.

“So do I. But we need breaks once in a while, and come on, you know I get worried when Inojin’s out.”

“Shikadai’s with him,” Temari pointed out, but she followed Ino anyway. “He’s got everything under control.”

_Of course he did_ , damn Naras who never had to work for anything. “I know. But I worry, and Sakura’s busy. You’re the next best thing.”

“What a ringing endorsement,” Temari said dryly.

“I can always go and find Chouji,” Ino said flippantly.

“Nah. You’ve dragged me out already. Might as well make something of it.”

That was one of the things Ino liked about Temari, her willingness to take everything in stride. She didn’t get flustered when things went wrong, and she didn’t get upset when things didn’t go according to plan. She just adapted to whatever the situation was, and it was calming and reliable.

The tea house was in the opposite direction of where the kids had gone for milkshakes, and Ino had done that on purpose so she wouldn’t be tempted to check on them.

It did not go unnoticed by Temari. She raised an eyebrow when Ino started fidgeting shortly after sitting down. “They’re fine, you know.”

“Hm?” Ino’s eyes snapped up to meet Temari’s.

“The boys. They’re fine. Stop worrying.”

“It isn’t that easy. And you never need to worry about Shikadai.”

“He’s a whole different set of worries,” Temari said, relaxing in her seat a bit more. “But when he’s with Inojin, he’s going to keep an eye on him and help him. So stop fretting and relax. Talk about something other than how much you panic over him.”

“You don’t understand,” Ino defended, not harshly. “You don’t need to worry about your son. I _do_ , because mine gets upset easily around people.”

Temari chuckled slightly. “I worry. I worry he’s going to fall asleep in the bath when he sits there for ages doing nothing and drown himself. I worry he’s going to get lost in thought and wander somewhere, and not know how to get home. I worry he’s going to get his ass kicked because he’s got an attitude problem and doesn’t know how to pick his battles. I worry he’s never going to make friends other than Boruto and Inojin, because he alienates everyone with his genius.”

Ino had never thought of it that way before, but Temari was right. Shikadai pushed people away by making them feel stupid – or just outright telling them they were stupid.

“We’ve all got problems,” Temari continued. “That’s how life works. But that’s why we have friends and family, to help with those problems. Inojin has all that he needs. And so does Shikadai, and it will work out.”

Ino took a moment to mull over that, partially wondering when Temari had started sounding so reasonable. It must have been a side effect of living with Shikamaru.

“Shikadai’s a good friend,” she said eventually.

Temari shrugged. “Attitude aside, he seems to be doing alright.”

Ino didn’t point out his attitude probably wasn’t a Nara thing. She switched topics.

“So Shikadai’s already working with shadows, huh,” Ino started, trying to sound casual and probably failing.

Temari’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Yeah.”

“Isn’t he a bit young for that? I mean . . . He’s just turning seven in a few months.” Ino worried about Inojin falling behind, about him never catching up, never closing the gap that Shikadai kept growing between them.

“When I was seven I had already seen combat.” Temari tilted her head slightly. “But that’s not what you’re referring to.”

“No, it’s not. I just . . . We haven’t taught Inojin anything. I’m terrified he won’t manage. Or it’ll upset him. And . . . I don’t want to lose the progress we’ve made. I don’t want to shut him down by doing the wrong thing. And maybe training him is the wrong thing. It’s not easy, and I don’t know if he’s up for the challenge. If he’ll _ever_ be up for it.”

Temari wasn’t great at offering sympathy. She watched Ino critically, obviously deciding what to say. Even if she wasn’t good at being sympathetic, she was exceptional at being diplomatic. “No sense in worrying about it until you’ve tried. You haven’t started any training with him. He might be fine.”

“He might be a wreck, and I’ll spend the next few years hating myself for pushing him when he wasn’t able to manage.”

“Life is full of risks,” Temari shrugged one shoulder. “Take them or leave them.”

“What would you do?” Ino asked, mildly curious. One thing you could always count on from Temari was honesty.

“My child would be a shinobi,” she replied levelly. “And if it was a path he couldn’t handle, we’d find another for him. But we’d try. We wouldn’t close any doors before they were opened.”

Ino stared at the table for a moment, before raising her gaze tentatively to Temari.

Temari stared back at her, sincere and as close to compassionate as she was going to get. “Take the risk, Ino.”

“Soon,” Ino replied. “We’ll try.”

Because that’s all she could do – try. Just try.

And hope that Inojin wanted to try too.

 

Ino and Temari returned to the Naras house after tea, where Ino tried not to worry while she waited until Shikadai finally dragged Inojin home with him. Both boys looked calm and content, and some of Ino’s worry eased.

“Did you have fun?” Ino asked when they were walking home together.

“Hm,” Inojin hummed, seeking out her hand to hold as they walked.

“Who did you talk to?”

Inojin answered after a pause, “Shikadai.”

“Just Shikadai?”

“Sarada.”

“What did you and Sarada talk about?”

Inojin’s face pulled into a frown, and he stared pointedly at the ground as they walked. “Stuff.”

“Tell me what stuff,” Ino tried to encourage.

Inojin pulled his hand away from hers with an annoyed sound. It felt like a slap in the face. Ino stopped walking for a moment, shocked to the core that he had pulled away. Was she asking too much of him? Was she pushing him too much? She must have frustrated him, constantly asking for more and more and _more_ , and never giving him a break.

He stopped when she stopped, twisting his hands together. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said automatically. “You can . . . tell me when you’re ready. There’s no rush.”

They both stood still for a moment. Inojin stared at her feet, clearly mulling something over. He raised his hand slightly, hesitated, and lowered it again. He let out a short, sharp sigh. “Birds.”

Ino waited.

“Talked about birds. And colours.” He raised his eyes very hesitantly to hers, looking searchingly at her for a few seconds before dropping his gaze down again. Then, as though seeking some sort of comfort in exchange for what he had told her, he shuffled closer and asked hopefully, “Up?”

Ino felt her tension leave slowly. She picked him up, relieved he had found the courage to speak up instead of shutting down and ignoring her completely. She decided to let him relax with a few yes/no questions, so he didn’t feel pressured into verbally answering. “Did Boruto talk a lot?”

Inojin nodded, twisting his upper body as she started walking again so he could look at where they were going.

“Did he and Shikadai argue at all?” Ino knew Boruto and Shikadai were good friends, but they were also constantly at each other’s throats, disagreeing on almost every topic under the sun.

Inojin nodded again, a small smile breaking through.

“Do you like Boruto any better?”

Inojin’s smile turned thoughtful. “He’s . . . okay. He can be funny.” Inojin fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I like his game.”

“Did you tell him that?”

Inojin shrugged one shoulder and shook his head. He was quiet for a few minutes, before adding softly, “I think I’d like to hang out with him again. If Shikadai is there.”

That was good. That was more than she had been expecting. “So maybe you and Boruto can be friends?”

He needed more friends. He needed more people in his life.

Inojin made a face. “Dunno. Maybe. He’s loud.”

Ino hid a smile, turning her head slightly away. “I see.”

“We didn’t fight,” Inojin added blandly, voice losing all inflection, as it did when he wasn’t sure what he was feeling. “So maybe friends now.”

“So how many friends do you have, then?”

Inojin fell silent for a moment, thinking hard. Ino imagined he was deciding if Boruto should be a part of the list.

_Shikadai, Chocho, Sarada, Boruto_ , she mentally tallied, wondering if their numbers would match.

Inojin whined a bit, clearly unsure of the question. But he didn’t wriggle out of her grasp. After a short silence, he said slowly, “Four . . .”

She relaxed. “Four? Wow, that’s amazing. Soon it’ll be like your drawings – with friends all around you.”

Inojin squirmed a bit in her arms, the way he usually did when he was feeling too much and didn’t know how to deal with it.

“What are you feeling, love?”

He paused for a moment to think, then resumed his fidgeting. “Happy. But too much.” He whined again. “Down again, please.”

Ino put him down, and Inojin calmed down a fraction. He skipped slightly ahead of her as they walked, and Ino smiled tenderly at his back.

Bouncing ahead, with his blonde hair in a sunshine wave, he looked like she had when she was young. Happy, and smiling, and carefree.

Just as he should be.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet?

Ino wasn’t expecting Inojin to bring Shikadai home, but there were two boys trampling through the house sounding like a herd of elephants. Ino stuck her head out of the kitchen. “Inojin?”

“Mom!” Inojin came barrelling towards her. He held out a single daisy. As soon as Ino took it, he continued his reckless path to his bedroom, with Shikadai close behind.

“Shikadai, does anyone know you’re here?” Ino called after them, twirling the flower between her fingers.

“No!” Shikadai shouted back from Inojin’s room. “Don’t tell Mom, she thinks I’m at Grandma’s, helping.”

Ino couldn’t help but smile. She studied the daisy for a moment. So, Inojin was happy? That was always nice to hear. She tucked the flower into one of the many vases on the kitchen windowsill, and continued on with baking. (Sai had asked for cookies.)

Once that was done she moved onto the paperwork she had been putting off. Occasionally she led genin squads, stepping in when the regular Jounin was away or busy with other things, and there had been a few requests sitting on the coffee table that she was meant to look over.

Once she finished that, she went to Inojin’s room to check on him and Shikadai. She was several metres from the door when she heard Shikadai laugh, and she stopped dead as there was a shier, quieter chuckle from Inojin.

Ino didn’t dare move. She heard the front door open, but ignored it. And when Sai came up to her – puzzled as to why she was standing in the hallway – she waved a hand vaguely to communicate silence.

Sai did not understand.

“Hello,” Sai began, but Ino shushed him.

“Quiet!” she hissed. “Listen.”

Sai froze in place, somewhat alarmed. “. . . Is everything okay?”

“Listen to them,” Ino repeated, gesturing towards the door. Sai crept to her side, cocking his head slightly. He could hear hushed whispers, then a muffled thud and squeals, followed by the unmistakable sound of Shikadai bursting into laughter.

Then Inojin followed.

Sai blinked at Ino, grasping the enormity of the situation quickly.

“He’s laughing,” Ino said shakily, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth. “He’s actually laughing . . .” Her throat felt tight, and her vision blurred with sudden tears.

Sai edged closer to her, nudging her with a shoulder, and whispering, “He’s going to be fine . . .”

“He’s _laughing_ ,” Ino repeated in a breathy whisper. “Sai, he’s _happy_ . . .”

She turned abruptly, pressing her face into his chest, squeezing her arms tight around him. She tried to stifle her own laughter, not wanting to give away her presence to Inojin. Sai’s shirt muffled her, and when she was able to keep herself under control, she tipped her head back to look at him.

He was smiling broadly, eyes glowing.

“He’s happy,” she repeated, a helpless smile tugging at her lips. Her laughter came back, and she quickly buried her face against Sai again. When his arms tightened around her, she nearly squealed in delight.

Sai practically dragged her away, and Ino waited until he shut their bedroom door behind them before letting loose a happy screech and leaping against him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Sai supported her easily, still smiling.

“Happy?” he asked, teasingly.

“Very,” she confirmed, pressing her forehead against his. “Oh, Sai, have you ever heard him laugh like that?”

“I haven’t,” Sai shook his head slowly.

“He’s getting better,” Ino’s grip around Sai’s neck tightened slightly with excitement. “He’s laughing and talking and _doing better._ ”

“Can I say I told you so?” Sai queried.

“Yes,” she laughed, kissing him firmly on the mouth. “Yes, you can. You can say anything you want.”

“Hm,” Sai pretended to think. “In that case, I love you.” He kissed her again. “And I told you so.”

 

Ino woke up to a small weight scrambling over her waist. She blinked her eyes open, “Inojin?”

“Dad?” Inojin had clambered over her to get to Sai, kneeling between them and shaking Sai’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

Sai pretended to snore loudly, and Ino hid a giggle in her pillow.

“Dad!” Inojin repeated, shaking more vigorously. “Wake up.”

“What do you need, love?” Ino asked, bringing an arm up to try to wrap around Inojin.

He shifted out of her grasp. “I need to learn the painting jutsu.”

That made Sai open his eyes. “You need to do what?”

“That you do,” Inojin explained. “You need to teach me how to be ninja.”

“Why all of a sudden?” Ino enquired, although she was thrilled to hear Inojin taking an interest.

“Because Shikadai can do things,” Inojin explained, still shaking Sai rather urgently. “And we can do it together.” He paused to take in a breath, before rushing out, “Wanna be able to do more things with him and I like drawing and I wanna be a ninja too because that’s what we do.”

Sai looked extremely puzzled by this outburst, but Ino smiled broadly. “Okay. You can be a ninja. Your dad will teach you. But,” she added, and Inojin glanced at her. “if you want to learn, you have to ask for it.”

“Like now?” Inojin ventured.

“Just like now,” Ino confirmed. “All you need to do is ask nicely.”

Inojin nodded. “Okay. Can we start now?”

Sai sank further into the mattress. “In a minute.”

“Come here,” Ino raised her arm. “Let Daddy sleep for a bit more.”

Inojin snuggled obligingly into her side, fingers gathering up blankets to fiddle with. He was impatient, though, and unwilling to lie still. He squirmed a bit, whining softly. Ino wrapped her arm around him more securely. “Settle down.”

“I wanna practice.”

“In a moment. Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling?”

“Excited,” Inojin answered instantly, and Ino kissed his hair softly. He shifted some more, reaching his foot out to nudge against Sai. “Are you done sleeping yet?”

Sai shook his head.

“What ‘bout now?”

With a resigned groan, Sai open his eyes. “Okay, okay. I’m awake.”

Inojin bounced upright and out of Ino’s hold. “Can we go now?”

It was thrilling to see Inojin so excited and talkative about something. It was one of those moments in life that seemed perfect and unbreakable, a ray of sunshine through the dark. Ino sat up as well, stifling giggles as Inojin tried to push Sai out of bed.

“Get dressed first,” Ino said. “You can’t be a ninja in your pyjamas.”

Sai tried to shove his head under the pillow, only to have Inojin snatch it away.

“Sai,” she smiled broadly, “No sleeping in this morning.”

“I’m up,” Sai replied, sitting up. Inojin jumped to the floor, tugging insistently on Sai’s wrist in an attempt to lever him up into a standing position. Sai let himself be pulled, and Inojin made a triumphant noise, letting his father go so he could dash from the room.

Sai sat down again, and Inojin spun around. “Dad!”

“I’ll get him up, love,” Ino placated. “Go and get ready.”

Inojin nodded, continuing his rapid trajectory out the room.

Sai glanced at her over his shoulder, asking innocently, “You’re going to get what up?”

“Oh, behave yourself,” Ino pushed him with a foot. “Inojin’s dying to spend time with you. You and I can find time later. We’ll send him to visit Shikadai or something.”

Sai heaved himself off the bed, just in time for Inojin to peer around the door again.

“Up yet?”

“Almost,” Sai replied. “Are you dressed?”

“No.” Inojin about faced nonchalantly and returned to his room. He came flying back in about five minutes with his hair in a tangle, by which time Sai had been convinced to go brush his teeth.

“Dad, faster!” Inojin demanded.

“Come here,” Ino said, trying to calm him. Inojin tended to over react to excitement, quickly growing frustrated with the feeling and slipping back to a more neutral emotion. Ino wanted to avoid that, and teach him to deal with it. “I’ll brush your hair.”

Inojin stood impatiently at the foot of her bed while she sat behind him, brushing methodically through his sunshine pale hair.

“Take a breath,” Ino instructed. “And tell me three things you want to do today.”

“Draw,” Inojin said instantly, the thought at the forefront of his mind. He hesitated then, and Ino breathed a sigh of relief that he was trying to focus. His words came slower. “And . . . make drawings move. And . . .” he craned his head around, meeting her eyes briefly. “And spend time with Dad?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” She smiled at him. “Okay. We can do all that.”

Inojin returned the smile, finally calm. He snapped his head forwards when Sai re-entered the room, and Ino waited to see if his excitement would overwhelm him again, or if he had it better controlled.

He padded after Sai, following from the bedroom to Sai’s study where most of his supplies were kept. He stayed quiet, and Ino followed them.

“You can carry these,” Sai gave Inojin two small scrolls. “And I’ll take the inks.”

“Where?” Inojin asked, sticking close to Sai.

“I suppose the lounge is fine-“

“Outside,” Ino said firmly. “You’re not splattering ink all over the house.”

“I won’t splatter ink,” Sai replied reasonably.

“I know you won’t, but Inojin isn’t going to be able to hold the shape for long. There is going to be ink everywhere. Go outside, on the grass, and try not to get it in his hair.”

Inojin grinned. “I’ll stay clean.”

Ino had visions of the bathroom streaked with ink. “Try your best.” At least he wasn’t wearing anything too pale. Inojin favoured lilacs and yellows for his t-shirts, but today’s was a much darker purple. She caught him before he went outside, gathering his pale blonde hair behind his head and tying it into a short tuft at the nape of his neck, to keep it out of his eyes.

Inojin bounced eagerly behind Sai into the garden, and Ino watched them from the kitchen window. She didn’t want to interrupt, and it was its own kind of special, being able to observe the two of them together. She made breakfast absently, with her eyes on them. She couldn’t hear Inojin speaking, but she could see him gesturing and looking attentively between his own scroll and Sai’s.

When Sai moved to sit behind Inojin, knees framing the boy’s sides, arms around him to help mould his fingers into the correct hand sign Ino snuck a few photos of them. These were memories she knew she wanted to keep. This was what she had envisioned for her family – a small child learning from their father, eagerly mimicking his every move.

Just as she had, and the thought made her smile beautifully.

Stars were aligning, and Inojin was learning, and there wasn’t a thing about her life that she would change.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly introspection here, as Ino organizes her thoughts and expectations. Next chapter is the last one.

Inojin was asleep on Sai’s lap, exhausted from a long day of trying to learn the Ninja Beast Scroll. He had fallen asleep while Ino was making dinner, and neither of them wanted to wake him, so they had spent the afternoon sitting on the couch and eating dinner in front of the TV while Inojin slept the hours away.

Inojin’s attempts at moulding chakra had been unsuccessful so far, but he hadn’t grown irritated, and Ino was relieved by that. Inojin seemed to understand that this was something that would take practice, and wouldn’t be perfect immediately.

The feeling of chakra rising within him had been unsettling at first, and he had shied away from the sensation, breaking his concentration. It was something that would come with time, she hoped.

“Think he’ll get it?” she asked softly, watching the TV idly.

Sai had tipped his head back, eyes closed, but he kept his sturdy hold on Inojin. “Hm?”

“Think he’ll manage to use his chakra properly? He doesn’t like the feeling.”

“Hm. He’ll learn.”

“Do you think he’s going to be a shinobi?”

Sai didn’t open his eyes, but one hand unconsciously moved in soothing circles against Inojin’s back.

“We don’t know if he’ll be any good at it. Or if he’ll ever get further than genin level, but at least we know he can manage a little bit.” Ino trailed off. What if ‘a little bit’ was ‘far too little’?

“Hm . . .” Sai sounded drowsy.

“If he isn’t good enough . . .” She hesitated. “Then what happens?”

She looked at her son, sleeping soundly. He was small and innocent now, but what about when the looming future came upon him? What then, when skills mattered, and competition was fierce, and survival was for the fittest?

“What if he can’t keep up with the other two? What if Chocho and Shikadai outstrip him and he falls too far behind to ever close the gap?” The main thought haunting her now was what if Inojin wasn’t good enough as a shinobi, but his team carried him anyway, until a mission where skills counted more than dumb luck, and he didn’t make it back alive. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself if he went on a mission and never returned. And all because she pushed him to be a shinobi, pushed him to keep up with his team, to take on more than he could manage, just because that’s what was expected of a ninja.

Yes, the reality was that any mission could be the last ( _Look at Asuma_ , her mind provided) but wherever possible missions were assigned with skills in mind. Skills enough to balance out the danger. But there were countless missions where people had been unprepared, under-levelled, inexperienced, and entire teams had been wiped out because the choice had been wrong.

And it made her question if pushing Inojin was wrong; if she would push him further than he could go, and he floundered at a critical moment. Maybe it would be better to quit while he was ahead, and never let him try to become a shinobi. She could protect him from all the danger the world had to offer, she could ease her own fear for his life. It didn’t make sense to send someone out into a dangerous world who wasn’t equipped to be in that world.

Not now, not when peace was here, and the need for skilled shinobi was no longer as pressing.

“He could just be a normal person,” she mused. “We could protect him from the danger of the shinobi world. Think of the horrors we’ve seen and lived through – think of the things you were asked to do. We have a world now where our children will never need to go through those things.”

Thoughts and memories flashed through her mind, of blood flying and pain wracking her entire body. Of death and destruction and terror and fear. Other minds screaming in her own, people dying even while she fumbled and struggled to heal them. The horrors she had pulled out of Sai’s mind, the things he had done and had done to him . . . Inojin never had to go through it. Inojin didn’t have to be a shinobi at all.

He could live his life sheltered and protected. Then she wouldn’t have to spend each day wondering if he would come home again.

Sai didn’t add anything, thinking things over carefully. He looked at Inojin, studying him as he breathed easily, face peaceful and relaxed. He moved one hand to tuck a blonde curl back behind Inojin’s ear. After a pause, he sighed heavily. “Would you be angry if I said yes to him not being a shinobi? Or if I said no?”

“No,” Ino answered honestly. “Neither answer would make me angry.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to feel. I always assumed he would be a shinobi like me, and we would bond over that. If he wasn’t . . . what would we talk about? What would we have to bind us together?”

“He wouldn’t love you any less just because he wasn’t a ninja,” Ino said gently.

“This isn’t something I can answer right now,” Sai looked at Inojin worriedly. “It’s not . . . I don’t know what I want from him, or what you want from him. I don’t know what he wants from life. We’re . . . I can’t answer you. I think that . . . we’ll just have to see what happens.”

The uncertainty was killing her, the lack of a clear-cut answer almost infuriating. But Ino knew Sai was right – they had no answers right now. They had nothing but what Inojin had offered so far.

She leant her head on Sai’s shoulder. “Okay. We’ll just have to wait.”

With everything going so well, with Inojin suddenly meeting expectations and coming out of his shell, Ino was impatient. She didn’t want to wait. She wanted to push boundaries, she wanted to ask for more. She wanted to be greedy, but Sai was reluctant, and his uncertainty made her uncertain.

She desperately wanted someone older and wiser to help her with her decisions, someone who wasn’t also struggling with the doubt that affected first time parents. She needed a mentor of sorts, anyone who had been through it all before, anyone who had the knowledge and the experience to help her see what she needed to see.

There was only so much Sai could offer her, and while she loved him dearly, he did not have the wisdom to guide her through this. Yes, he stood resolutely at her, and yes, he was doing his best, but Ino needed someone else, someone above her in age and wisdom, to offer their own words of advice.

She longed for her father to still be alive, because he would have known what to do. He would have told her everything she needed to hear, everything she was too stubborn to figure out for herself. And anything she couldn’t talk to her father about she would have taken to Asuma . . .

She went to their gravestones the next day, trying to seek out something intangible. It had been a while since she visited, and she felt guilty for that, but Inojin was pulling her attention towards him, and things that she used to do – like visit her father and sensei – fell more and more to the wayside. She didn’t resent Inojin for it at all, he was something present and real, but she liked the peacefulness that came with visiting the graves, the sense of fulfilment and comfort.

It always felt special being there, and she felt closer to her father.

Shikamaru was there already, sitting pensively in front of his father’s gravestone, flicking Asuma’s lighter open and closed. She didn’t want to interrupt him, but he looked up when she approached anyway. The fading sunlight cast long shadows over his face, highlighting his sombre expression.

He looked older than she remembered.

She hadn’t realized it before, but out of all of them, Shikamaru had grown up the most. He had moved seamlessly from the nonchalant, lazy, disinterested boy into a real man, seemingly overnight. Ino hadn’t taken the time before to really think about what he did in a day – he led his clan, he was the Hokage’s advisor, he doted on Shikadai, he still found time to check on Kurenai frequently, and he seemed to have a never-ending amount of time to focus on Mirai.

She left him alone, figuring he would come and talk to her later if he wanted to. He liked being alone here. She knew he preferred making these visits on his own.

She stopped briefly at Asuma’s grave to stand in silence for a moment, before moving on. There were wilting flowers near it, and she made a mental note to come and bring fresh ones. Maybe she would let Inojin pick them out. He had a good eye for colour.

She knelt down in front of her father’s grave, running her fingers gently across the name engraved on the stone. “Sorry I haven’t been by in a while. Life’s been busy. Inojin’s so big now, you’d be impressed. He talks a lot more, too. And he wants to be a ninja.”

She sighed. “I wish you were here, so I could talk to you about that . . . because he might never be what we want. He might never be . . . never be good enough.” So much rested on Inojin’s shoulders from the day he was born, and Ino didn’t know if he would handle the weight. She had so many doubts, in herself and in him, and she needed someone with a clear head and an outside perspective to set her straight. “I just want him to be happy. I want him . . . I want to hear him say ‘I love you’ . . .”

She sat in silence for a while, lifting her head when Shikamaru approached.

He flopped down in a careless pile of limbs, Asuma’s silver lighter still clutched in one hand. “You look pensive.”

“Just trying to figure life out.” She studied him. “You look tired.”

He shrugged. “Working.”

Silence fell over them again. It was familiar and comforting.

“Need to talk?” he offered.

Ino sighed. “It’s about Inojin and the future. You can’t really help with that. I just . . . I need someone older and wiser.”

“I am older than you.”

“By a _day_ ,” she shoved his shoulder.

Shikamaru smirked. “Still counts.”

“You’re still insufferable.”

“Yeah. So I’ve heard.”

They lapsed into their companionable silence. Ino watched him, sending him a sidelong glance to try to gauge what he was thinking about. “We should go out for dinner again. With Chouji. I miss you guys.”

He flicked his dark eyes to hers. “You see us all the time.”

“I know. But not the way we used to. We’re supposed to meet up once a week. That was the plan.”

And she needed them. She needed their support, their advice, their musings. They were the oldest and most reliable relationships she had in life.

Shikamaru let out a deep sigh. “Life rarely goes the way we plan it. Even if you’ve got a hundred plans in your head, someone still comes along and makes you go with number hundred and one . . .” He unconsciously twisted his wedding band around his finger. “But sometimes those changes are good. So, Inojin wasn’t what you planned.” Shikamaru looked at her seriously. “But neither was Sai. Neither was being named head of your clan before you turned eighteen. That was just life, doing its thing.”

He lay back, hands behind his head, staring at the clouds. “We have our own plans, and life has its plans, and we can’t always change life to fit into what we imagined. It’s troublesome, but . . .”

Ino wished she could sound as calm about that as he could. She let the silence linger, until Shikamaru’s eyes drifted closed, and she spoke up abruptly, not wanting him to drift off.

“I just wish I knew what Dad and Asuma would have said,” Ino admitted. “Because I have so many doubts and they would have known exactly what to do.”

Shikamaru looked at her, serious and calculating.

“Everything I had expected for Inojin and for the future, it might not happen. Ever. And I just . . .” She bit her lip. “What would Dad have said about that? About how I’m . . . how I am as a mother.”

Shikamaru let out a sigh. He sat up, propping an elbow on one raised knee, hand dangling. “Wanna know what I think?”

“Yes.” Because Shikamaru was the next best thing. Because he held all the wisdom they needed, and he could think his way through anything. And he would be honest with her, brutally if needed, and she would listen and actually hear him.

“I think you’re worrying too much. And I think everything that I’m going to say you’ve heard before. But you didn’t listen, because it was probably Sai or Sakura who said it. Or you just said it yourself. So there’s nothing new here, it’s the same stuff people have been telling you for years. But, this time,” he let out another sigh, eyes darting to his father’s gravestone, “ _This time_ , listen to me.”

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support and feedback for this story, it's been greatly appreciated.

_Let those expectations go. Let them all go, and take him as he is. Accept the world for what it is now, not what you want it to be. The ideals, the dreams, they aren’t reality. This is. He is._

_Whatever you wanted for him, let it go._

_Whatever you expected of him, give it up._

_Whatever plans you made, throw them away._

_He’s happy now, with how things are. And that, above all else, is your priority. That is all you want, need, and expect of him. You can’t see the future – but you can see the now. And right now, this is who he is._

_And you’re managing. You’ve taken him so far. So stop taking control and let the world come as it wants, and let him be who he is. He’s still yours, and you’ll find that no matter what the future brings he’ll be everything you wanted._

_Every life comes with challenges, and he is no different._

 

 

She can’t see the future, and she never will be able to. But she can dream about it, she can hope, and she can help Inojin the best she can to make everything come true. They can work for what he wants, they can work for what she wants.

She will have unanswered questions for years, and she has to change her expectations, and a lot of the things she wants now are different to the things she wanted before Inojin was born.

Now, she wants to know that he’ll graduate the Academy on his first try.

She wants to know that he settles into life as a shinobi.

She wants to know that Shikadai and Chocho are good team mates and excellent friends.

She wants to know that Inojin becomes exceptionally skilled with his father’s jutsu.

She wants to know that he keeps up with his peers without struggling much, and she wants to know that they don’t treat him any differently.

She wants to know that he looks Boruto squarely in the eye when they disagree, and she wants to know that he nudges Shikadai with his shoulder and doesn’t think twice about returning Chocho’s powerful embrace.

She wants to know that he smiles all the time, that he’s happy with life, that he learns to be as sassy and sharp-tongued as a Yamanaka should be.

But she can’t know these things just yet.

For now, she knew that he was smiling, curled on her lap and growing heavier every second as sleep tugged his awareness away. She knew he was happy, because there was a fresh daisy in the vase at her desk and a smiling face on top of her stacks of papers. She knew he was going to try, and he was going to train, because there were ink drops on his fingers and a stain on his t-shirt.

And maybe it wasn’t what she expected, but it’s what she has, and she can’t fault him for that. She brushed some wayward blonde hair from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. He stayed asleep, breathing steadily.

She stood up, lifting him with her, to carry him to bed. He had tried to stay awake until Sai came home, eager to show off his latest drawing. But Sai was coming home late, stuck on a mission, and Inojin hadn’t been able to ward off sleep for long enough.

Ino took him to his room, cradling him against her with one arm while she pulled the covers back with the other, and lowered him gently. She took her time smoothing his sunshine hair, admiring its softness, and thinking how lucky she was to have him.

“Love you, flower child,” she whispered, kissing his forehead gently. “Sleep well.”

 

“What’s this?” Sai asked, sounding puzzled.

Ino glanced up from the table. “Hm? Oh, this. Exactly what it looks like.”

“It looks like a pile of dried daisies,” Sai ventured.

“It is.” Ino smiled blithely at him. “Of course, fresh ones are the best, but these ones are special.”

“What are you doing with them?” Sai approached cautiously.

Ino was systematically picking each flower out of the pile and making a small slit through the stem. “I’m making something for Inojin.”

She held up two flowers to show Sai, sliding the stem of one through the slit in the other. “You keep doing that until they’re all linked together.”

“Okay. Why?”

“It makes a flower chain,” Ino explained. “I used to make these all the time as a child.”

She saw the questions brimming in Sai’s eyes, and she smiled. “I’ll explain later.”

Sai seemed to accept that, sitting down opposite her at the table. He studied her quizzically for a few moments, before asking, “What’s special about these flowers?”

“Take a guess.”

“They’re dead.”

Ino almost rolled her eyes. “That’s not what makes them special.”

Sai rested his chin in the palm of one hand, smiling casually at her. “Are they a special type of daisy?”

“Something like that,” Ino returned his smile.

They fell into a companionable silence after that, and Ino continued to systematically link flowers together, until they were all gone, and one long, winding chain was twisted into a haphazard pattern on the table top.

She gathered it up carefully, trying not to get anything twisted.

Sai stepped in wordlessly to help her, keeping a steadying hand wherever she needed while she organized the flowers. “Where do you want them?”

“We can put them in our room for the night. I’ll give it to Inojin tomorrow morning.” Ino shuffled carefully to the bedroom. Sai hovered, recognising that whatever madness she was displaying was clearly important.

Ino set the flowers down carefully on the dresser. Sai watched with interest, wondering if he should question her further or not. He decided not, and they fell into their usual routine, preparing for bed with the occasional comment to each other, until they were settled side by side, with Ino’s head pillowed on Sai’s shoulder, and a hand on the centre of his chest.

His hand twisted idly in her hair. “You’re happy?”

“Yes.” She could answer that surely, now. There was no hesitation. No doubt, no wasted expectations.

“Good.” Sai smiled genuinely.

The next silence followed, and Ino closed her eyes and dozed against him.

The room smelled faintly of daisies, sweet but earthy, and she fell asleep thinking of flowers and sunshine.

 

Inojin was already awake when Ino stuck her head into his room. “Good morning, love.”

“Hm,” he offered a brief smile, eyes flicking to hers for a second, before he looked down at his lap again. His sketchbook was open, even though he hadn’t bothered getting out of bed. There were pencils scattered on the bed around him.

“I have something for you,” Ino said, moving fully into the room, with the flowers gathered in her arms.

“What’s this?” Inojin asked, head tilting curiously.

“It’s a daisy chain,” Ino replied brightly.

“Chocho made me some,” Inojin said.

“This one is special,” Ino sat next to him on the bed, laying some of the flowers across his lap. “Because these daisies are all yours. These are the happy flowers you’ve given me. All of them.”

“It’s . . .” Inojin trailed off, “All my . . .?”

He touched the flowers gently, just the very tips of his fingers, uncertain and a bit awed.

“All the days you were happy,” Ino explained softly. “Every daisy you ever gave me.”

Inojin continued to stare at them, lips slightly parted as he worked on something to say. He lifted part of the chain, studying it. “I . . .”

“Are you happy, sweetie?” Ino asked, running her fingers through his hair.

He smiled. “Hm . . . but more.”

“More than happy?” Ino smiled as well. “Because of all the happy flowers in one place? Do you know what you’re feeling?”

Inojin hummed a bit, fidgeting with the chain of flowers. He stood up on the bed, flowers draped around him, so he could lean against her, arms around her neck. Ino embraced him, an exquisite full feeling in her chest.

“Don’t know how to say it,” he murmured, not letting go of her.

“That’s okay. You’re showing me.”

Inojin pulled back slightly, sky blue eyes looking straight at her. Little curls of wispy blonde hair fell across his face, and he flicked his gaze away after a few seconds, leaning in again to hide his face against her. “Mom?”

“Yes, darling?” Ino inhaled the scent of daisies and Inojin’s hair – he always smelled like sunshine and gold. She felt him flush a bit, felt his heartbeat jump. And then she felt tears well in her eyes as he hesitantly, carefully, whispered the words she had been waiting six years to hear.

“I love you.”

 

 

< The End >

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we need a sequel when he's older?


End file.
